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Hymn- Writers 


THEIR   HYMNS. 


BT 


THE  REV.  s.  w.  Christophers. 


■'  There  are,  it  may  be,  so  many  kinds  of  voices  in  the  world,  and  none  of 

them  are  without  signification What  is  it  then  ?  I  will  sing  with  the 

spirit,  and  I  will  sing  with  the  understanding  also."— 1  Cor.  siv.  10, 15. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


ANSON    D.    F.    RANDOLPH    &    CO., 

770  Broadway,  cor.  9TH  St., 

NEW    YORK. 


yVxw^i--.'    vr      -.-^ 


I  RtC.  SEP  1BB2 

TO   THE   DAUGHTEE   OF   A   HOME   ONCE   RICH   IN   THE 
MUSIC   OF   HYMNS   AND   PSALMS  ; 

TO 

EMMA, 

THE   WIFE   AND   MOTHER, 

WHOSE     VOICE     AND     SMILE     STILL     AWAKEN     DAILY     SONGS 

IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   MY   PILGEIMAGE, 

STfjrsf  pages  arc  DciiratfU, 

WITH    MOST    TENDER   AND    HALLOWED    AFFECTION, 


BY   HER   HUSBAND, 


S.  W.  CHRISTOPHERS. 


CONTENTS. 


TO    THE    EEADEB  .........  ix 

CHAPTER  I. 

INTKODUCTOEY   CHAPTEE 1 

CHAPTER  n. 

THE   FIBST   HYMX-BOOK .14 

CHAPTER  III. 

HYMN'S    or   THE    LATTER   DAY   MORNING 29 

CHAPTER  IV. 

HYMNS   OF   THE   FATHERS .44 

CHAPTER  V. 

MORE    HYMNS   OF  THE  FATHERS          .  .  .  .  .  .  .         o7 

CHAPTER  VI. 

HYMNS    OF   OLD   ENGLAND'S   CHRISTIAN   BIRTH-TIME  .  .  .71 


TI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 
ItYMNS    FROJt    OLD    CLOISTERS 8(3 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

SOXGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES 100 

CHAPTER  IX. 

SONGS   IN    PRISON 116 

CHAPTER  X. 

PSALMS    IN    ENGLISH   METRE 132 

CHAPTER  XL 

HYMN -MENDERS      .  . 1-18 

CHAPTER  XII. 

HYMNS    OF   CREATION 164 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

HYMNS   ABOUT   THE    BOOK 180 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

HYMNS   OF   THE    SABBATH         .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .195 

CHAPTER  XV. 

HYMNS    BY    THE    WAY .211 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

KYilNS   ON    THE    WATERS 227 


CONTENTS.  Vli 

CHAPTER  XYII. 

TACK 
SONGS    OF    THE   MOENING 243 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SONGS   IN    THE    NIGHT 257 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

MAHEIAGE    SONGS    AND    BIETH-DAT  HYMNS 272 

CHAPTER  XX. 

HYMNS    FEOM    BENEATH   THE  CLOUD 290 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

HYMNS    OF    GETHESEMANE    AND    THE    CEOSS        .....       306 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

FUNEEAL    HYMNS  .........       322 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

JUDGMENT    HYMNS 335 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SONGS    OF    GLOEY 340 


THEOLOGIC:' 


TO    THE    READER. 


"  What  !  another  hj^mn-book  ?  Why  surely  the  world  has 
hymn-books  enough."  Well,  that  may  be,  and  yet  here  is 
something  like  another.  It  is  something  like  another,  as 
there  are  hymns  in  it ;  and  yet  it  is  rather  unlike  any  other, 
in  that  it  has  the  hymns  interwoven  with  what  may  be 
called  gossip,  innocent,  and,  it  is  hoped,  not  unpleasant 
gossip,  about  the  hymns  and  those  who  wrote  them.  Who 
does  not  like  to  know  the  why,  the  when,  and  the  where- 
fore of  men  and  things  ?  Who  does  not  love  a  chat  about 
the  people  and  the  affairs  which  interest  him  ?  Here, 
then,  is  chat  about  hymns,  their  birth  and  parentage, 
their  circumstances,  their  character  and  their  influence. 
These  pages  make  no  pretensions  to  learning — that  is  left 
to  the  doctors.  Nor  do  they  aim  at  criticism,  that  belongs 
to  those  who  go  up  the  Ehine.  Neither  do  they  affect  the 
style  of  history — that  has  been  well  done  in  other  volumes. 
It  will  be   enough   if  the  lover  of  sacred  music   should 


X  TO  THE  READER. 

snatcli  up  the  book  now  and  then,  after  a  good  practice 
in  psalmody,  and  opening  it  anywhere,  find  a  chapter 
containing  some  story  about  a  dear  old  hymn  which  makes 
that  hymn  still  dearer  to  his  heart.  Or,  if  those  who  like 
to  have  some  fresh  stanzas  always  on  their  merry  lips, 
should  catch  new  strains  from  the  voices  which  mingle  in 
these  chapters  of  chat ;  or,  if  those  who  turn  over  the 
leaves  should  find  an  hour's  pleasant  communion  with 
the  spirit  of  Christian  hymns,  or  with  the  mind  and 
hearts  of  those  who  wrote  them ;  or,  if  a  chapter,  per- 
chance, arrest  the  soul  of  any  reader,  and  teach  him  the 
secret  of  a  happy,  cheerful,  and  tuneful  life,  a  life  of  in- 
ward hymn  and  song, — the  book  will  answer  its  purpose, 
and  fill  its  place.  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  setting, 
the  gems  with  which  these  pages  are  enriched,  the  psalms 
and  hymns  which  illuminate  the  text,  need  no  commenda- 
tion but  their  own  transparent  richness  and  beauty. 

Many  of  these  hymns  are  from  living  authors,  and  grate- 
ful acknowledgments  are  due  for  permission  to  reprint 
them.  Mrs.  Julius  Collins's  fine  rendering  of  the  hymn 
from  the  Synagogue  Morning  Service  has  been  inserted  by 
the  kind  consent  of  Dr.  Beniseh.  Mrs.  Charles  has  freely 
sanctioned  the  use  of  several  of  her  translations  of  ancient 
hymns.  The  following  are  hers : — Hymn  from  Ephrem 
Syrus  "  On  the  Children  in  Paradise ;  "  St.  Ambrose's 
"Advent  Hymn;"  Bede's  hymn  "On  the  Ascension;" 
portions  of  St.  Bernard's  hymn,  "  To  Christ  on  the  Cross  ;  " 


TO  THE  REAIjEK.  XI 

the  "Veni,  Sancte  Spiritus,"  by  King  Eobert  II.  of 
France;  and  the  "Dies  Irse."  These  are  all  taken  from 
her  beautiful  and  instructive  "Voice  of  Christian  Life  in 
Song."  Five  hymns  translated  by  Miss  Winkworth  are 
reprinted  from  her  ''Lyra  Germanica,"  by  permission  of 
Messrs.  Longman,  Green,  and  Co. — "  Gustavus  Adolphus' 
Battle  Song,"  "  Queen  Maria  of  Hungary's  Song,"  "Jesus 
my  Redeemer  Lives,"  by  Louisa  Henrietta,  Electress  of 
Brandenburg;  "Leave  aU  to  God,"  by  Anton  Ulrich, 
Duke  of  Brunswick;  and  Notker's  hymn  by  Luther,  "In 
the  Midst  of  Life,  Behold."  All  the  other  renderings  of 
ancient  hjrmns,  without  a  name  in  the  volume,  are  new. 
Among  the  modern  hymns  selected,  those  by  the  Eev.  John 
S.  B.  Monsell  are  from  his  "Parish  Musings,"  and  are  given 
by  the  gifted  author's  permission.  The  Rev.  John  Keble, 
author  of  the  "  Christian  Year,"  very  kindly  sanctions 
the  use  of  those  hymns,  which  are  inserted  as  from  his 
pen.  Most  of  the  other  hymns  in  the  volume  come  from 
hymnists  who  are  now  above  our  thanks ;  but  "  the  memory 
of  the  just  is  blessed." 

Yes,  it  may  be  repeated,  "  the  memory  of  the  just  is 
blessed ;  "  for  scarcely  had  the  above  record  of  John 
Keble's  Christian  kindness  found  its  way  to  the  press, 
before  he  too  had  joined  the  hymnists  who  are  "now 
above  our  thanks."  It  was  but  the  other  evening  that 
one  looked  at  him  as  his  bending  form  moved  gently  over 
the  sands  along  the  beautiful  shore  of  Mount's  Bay,  in 


Xll  TO  THE  KEADEK. 

Cornwall ;  and  as  Ms  peaceful  face  was  now  and  then 
turned  upwards  to  the  star-lighted  heavens,  it  seemed  as 
if  he  were  inwardly  singing  his  own  deeply  spiritual  hymn 
for  "the  Fourth  Sunday  after  Easter;"  but  those  who 
kept  him  company  little  thought  that  he  would  so  soon 
realize  the  consoling  prophecy  of  his  own  verse  : — 

Then,  fainting  soul,  arise  and  sing ; 

Mount,  biit  be  sober  on  the  wing ; 

Mount  up,  for  heaven  is  won  by  prayer, 

Be  sober,  for  thou  art  not  there ; 

Till  death  the  weary  spirit  free, 

Thy  God  hath  said,  'Tis  good  for  thee 

To  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight : 

Take  it  on  trust  a  little  while ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  read  the  mystery  right 

In  the  f  vdl  sunshine  of  His  smile. 

S.  W.  0. 


Croydon,  Mat/,  1866. 
[First' Edition.) 


J^tC.  SEP  iiiol 
HYMN-WRITERS   AND   THEir'fi¥|ig^.„,^' 


ir^r-^' 


INTEODUCTOEY  CHAPTEE. 


Psalms  of  praise  were  the  first-fruits  of  creation.  Hj'inns 
were  the  earliest  utterances  of  human  nature  in  the  morn- 
ing light  of  the  world — man's  first  responses  to  the  voice 
of  his  Creator — the  earth's  first  echoes  to  the  music  of  the 
heavens,  when  "the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all 
the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joj.'"  This  world's  first  love 
was  told  in  hymns.  Music  first  broke  forth  in  psalms. 
The  earliest  recorded  essays  of  human  language  are  in 
spiritual  song.  Spiritual  songs  were  the  delight  of  the 
world  in  the  days  of  her  youth ;  they  have  been  her  solace 
during  her  advance  towards  maturity;  and  they  Avill 
brighten  the  eventide  and  close  of  her  life.  The  antedilu- 
vian age  seems  to  have  had  its  darling  household  songs. 
In  patriarchal  times  the  father's  blessing  was  sometimes 
poured  forth  in  lofty  hymnic  measures.  In  the  youth-tide 
of  her  national  life  Israel  gave  out  her  joys  of  deliverance 
in  sea-side  hymns.  She  was  once  shut  uj)  between  the 
mountains,  the  sea,  and  her  infuriated  enemies.  In  her 
distress  God  divided  the  waters  before  her,  and  the  tribes 
went  safely  through  the  depths.  Their  foes,  essaying  to 
follow  them,  were  overwhelmed  in  the  flood ;  and  while 
charioteer  and  horseman  were  struggling  with  the  waves 
and  the  sea  was  uttering  a  loud  requiem  over  the  sinking 
hosts,  the  redeemed  multitude  confidently  stood  on   the 

A 


2  HYJklN-WKITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMIS'S. 

shore,  and  mingled  tlieir  hymn  of  triumph  with  the  sound 
of  the  waters. 

Sing  unto  the  Lord, 

Tor  He  hath  triiunjjhed  gloriously  ! 

The  horse  and  his  rider 

He  hath  cast  into  the  sea ! 

The  Lord  is  my  strength  and  song, 

And  He  is  become  my  salvation. 


Who  is  like  nnto  Thee, 
O  Lord,  among  the  gods  ? 
Who  is  like  Thee— 
Glorious  in  holiness. 
Fearful  in  praises, 
Doino:  wonders  ? 


The  Lord  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever ! 
The  song  which  thus  first  rose  "o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea" 
rose  again,  ever  and  anon,  along  the  desert  and  in  the  land 
of  promise.  Israel  kejDt  up  the  circlings  of  her  religious 
dances  to  the  song  of  Moses  and  the  music  of  Miriam.  In 
the  fulness  of  her  meridian  strength,  her  psalms  were  her 
delights  as  she  went  up  to  the  house  of  the  Lord,  and 
plaintive  hymns  have  been  the  solace  of  her  faithful  child- 
ren all  through  the  weary  periods  of  her  decline.  The 
primitive  and  purer  literature  of  even  those  false  or  cor- 
rupted systems  of  religion  which  sprung  up  against  the 
early  claims  of  the  true  Messiah  take  the  hymnic  form,  as 
if  that  form  must  be  the  most  natural,  the  most  sacred,  and 
the  most  happy  mode  of  religious  utterance.  The  founda- 
tions of  the  Christian  Church,  too,  were  laid  amidst  the 
hymnings  of  her  first  converts.  She  owes  the  preservation 
of  her  spiritual  life,  and  the  continued  piu-ity  of  her  belief, 
in  a  large  measure,  to  the  service  of  song  ;  and  how  many 
of  her  generations  have  left  hymns  as  the  only  living  me- 
morials of  their  character  and  works.  "Psalms  and  hymns 
and  spiritual  songs"  form  the  native  language  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  religion  of  the  new  covenant  is  the  happy 
religion.  It  calls  its  people  to  "rejoice  evermore,  and  in 
everything  to  give  thanks."  When  it  is  allowed  to  exert 
its  proper  and  full  infiuence  on  the  human  character,  it 
regulates  the  affections,  without  desti'oying  man's  capacity 
for  delight ;  it  composes  and  cheers  the  soul ;  it  banishes 
mere  levity,  and  checking  all  vicious  and  boisterous  mirth, 


rNTRODUCTORT  CHAPTER.  3 

it  fills  the  mind  with  serene  joy,  and  gives  a  tone  of  cheer- 
fulness to  the  manners  and  to  the  voice.     But  how  many 
have  mistaken  the  Christian's  calling !     The  Christianity 
of  some  has  been  seemingly  made  up  of  depressing  recol- 
lections of  the  j)ast,  gloomy  views  of  the  present,  and  dark 
apprehensions  of  the  future.     And  if  an  inward  joy  is  ever 
felt,    such  people  think  it  their  duty  to  repress  it,  or  at 
least  not  to  give  it  expression,  but  rather  to  keep  up  an 
aspect  in  unbroken  accordance  with  the  gravity  of  their 
notions.     They  are  not  of  this  world,  they  say,  and  there- 
fore they  have  no  smiles  for  those  around  them,  no  songs 
for  themselves.     Theirs   are  melancholy  manners,  austere 
looks,  and  voiceless  lives — a  religion  which  threatens  to 
extinguish  all  gladness,  to  dark  the  face  of  nature,  and  to 
destroy  the  very  relish  of  life.     But  does  not  the  Saviour 
call  His  people  to  open  a  cheerful  face  upon  the  world,  and 
to  cheer  it  with  grateful  hymns?     "  Let  your  light  so  shine 
before  men,"  says  He,  "that  they  may  see  your  beautiful 
works,   and   glorify   your   Father   which    is    in  heaven." 
"  Who  is  she  that  looketh  forth  as  the  morning,  fair  as  the 
moon,  and  clear  as  the  sun?"      Is  it  not  the  Messiah's 
spouse,  the   Saviour's  Church?      And  who  should  be   as 
claeerful  as  the  sunlight,  if  Christ's  people  are  not  ?    ' '  Truly 
the  light  is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  behold  the 
sun  ;  which  is  as  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  chamber, 
and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race."     All  nature 
is  glad  when  the  day-spring  opens.     The  sparkling  sea, 
the  lucid  rivulet,  the  iluttei-ing  leaf,  the  colours  and  the 
tones  of  creation,  all   tell  how  the  sunbeams  cheer  the 
world.     All  see  the  light,  and  all  bless  the  light-bearer. 
And  what  is  so  cheerful  in  its  character  and  influence  as 
the  Christian  religion  ?     "  Light  is  sown  for  the  righteous, 
and  gladness  for  the  upright  in  heart."     Revelation  opens 
around  the  Christian  solemnities  holy  enough  to  chasten 
his  spirit,  but  it  throws  a  light  upon  Grod's  character  and 
will  which  inspires  the  believer  with  sacred  cheerfulness. 
All  the  principles  and  all  the  feelings  which  now  command 
him  dispose  the  Christian  to  form  the  habit  of  turning  the 
bright  side  of  things  towards  himself — the  habit  of  keeping 
Divine  goodness  in  sight,  of  marking  the  blessings  of  every 
moment  as  it  passes,  and  of  communing  with  a  happy 
futiu-e,  until  he  learns  to  speak  to  himself  ''in  psalms  and 


4  HYMN-WllITEES  AKD  THEIE  HYMNS. 

hymns  and  spiritual  songs,  singing,  and  making  melody  in 
his  heart  unto  the  Lord."  And  when  praise  thus  lives  in 
the  heart,  it  will  express  itself  in  pleasant  music  and  lively 
measures.  The  peaceful  conscience  and  merry  heart  will 
have  songs  for  the  outside  world.  And  when  all  Chris- 
tians breathe  this  happy  spirit  of  their  religion,  the  Chris- 
tian Church  will  be  the  beautiful  embodiment  of  a  haj)py 
godliness,  and  will  be  ceaseless  in  its  service  of  song. 

But  as  the  rise  and  advance  and  decline  of  the  human 
race,  or  of  human  empires,  or  of  religious  systems,  may 
somewhat  answer  to  the  stages  of  an  individual  life — or  as 
the  history  of  a  single  life  may  picture  the  course  of  the 
world,  or  the  career  of  a  people — so  those  favourite  modes 
of  utterance  which  the  world  or  any  one  of  its  communities 
have  used,  as  distinctive  of  the  different  stages  of  its  course 
have  their  answering  types  in  the  most-loved  forms  of  in- 
dividual expression.  Childhood  loves  to  lisp  its  joys  in  a 
hymn.  Manhood,  in  its  times  of  purest  and  most  exalted 
feeling,  speaks  to  itself  in  hymns.  Hymns,  too,  most 
naturally  weave  themselves  into  the  language  of  declining 
life,  and  often  supply  the  dejoarting  soul  with  its  most  happy 
words. 

There  is  scarcely  anything  that  retains  a  more  perma- 
nent influence  over  human  thought  and  feeling  in  the  pre- 
sent life  than  the  hymns  and  songs  which  the  soul  drinks 
in  during  our  childhood.  The  simplicity  of  children  makes 
them  capable  of  being  swayed  through  life  by  the  earliest 
lessons.  The  little  one's  mind  is  so  retentive  that  first 
impressions  are  most  lasting  and  powerfid.  The  first 
suppHes  of  knowledge  find  the  deepest  and  most  secure 
lodgment  in  the  soul ;  and  especially  when  the  knowledge 
comes  in  an  agreeable  form,  as  in  the  rhythm  and  rhyme  of 
simple  hymns.  These  are  entertained  for  life,  and  often  live 
to  make  themselves  felt  in  spite  of  all  the  changes  and  dis- 
tracting circumstances  of  the  later  course.  There  has  been 
many,  many  an  instance  like  those  which,  a  few  years  ago, 
were  recorded  in  a  pastoral  address  to  a  Christian  Church. 
The  minister  was  guarding  his  flock  against  the  danger  of 
betrayal  into  hardness  and  bitter  feeling  by  those  trials 
which  spring  out  of  the  seeming  unequal  distribution  of 
good  and  evil  in  the  world.  "  I  am  free  to  tell  you,"  said 
he,  "  that  sometimes  in  the  course  of  my  life,  I  have  been 


INTRODUCTOET  CHAPTEE.  6 

powerfully  tempted  to  hardness  when  the  thought  has  been 
insinuated,  that  my  share  in  life  has  been  wearisome  toil 
and  frequent  depression,  while  others  have  been  lapped 
in  ease  and  plenty,  though  apparently  not  a  whit  more 
deserving  than  myself;  and  I  confess  that  now  and  then  the 
temptation  has  been  so  timed  that  my  soul  has  gone  too  far 
through  the  process  of  transformation  into  something  like 
cold  iron  or  steel.  But  one  gentle  corrective  has  always 
prevented  the  hardening  process  from  being  complete. 
When  I  have  been  all  but  shut  up  to  the  curse  of  a  stony 
heart,  some  stanza  from  one  of  the  simple  hymns  or  *  divine 
songs,'  which  used  to  touch  and  soften  me  in  childhood, 
has  come  up  from  its  home  in  my  memory,  and  like  a  divine 
charm  has  soothed  and  melted  me  into  childlike  tender- 
ness, simplicity,  and  love.  Verses  that  seemed  to  have 
been  lost  for  j^ears  have  suddenly  sprung  into  life  again, 
and  brought  so  many  good  recollections  in  their  train,  that 
my  rugged  nature  has  yielded  at  once,  and  all  within  and 
all  without  have  responded  to  the  music  of  the  hymn,  as 
the  face  of  nature  answers  to  the  genial  sunbeams  of  spring. 
And  I  have  met  in  the  course  of  my  life  with  many  others 
whose  experience  might  be  taken  as  a  reflection  of  mj^own. 
One  remarkable  instance,  however,  somewhat  varies  from 
the  rest ;  inasmuch  as  it  shows  how  the  well-timed  recur 
rence  of  verses  once  fondly  cherished  by  the  young  memory 
and  heart,  may  give  the  deciding  touch  to  the  wandering 
soul,  and  convert  a  prodigal  from  '  the  error  of  his  way.' 
A  good  man  in  declining  life  told  me  that  the  first  book  in 
which,  as  a  child,  he  took  an  interest,  was  a  small  edition 
of  Watts's  '  Hymns  and  Divine  Songs'  for  children.  Each 
hymn  was  headed  by  a  woodcut,  and  one  especially  was  his 
favourite.  It  represented  a  little  boy,  something  like  him- 
self, as  he  thought,  leaning  at  an  open  window,  looking 
with  a  calm  happy  face  on  the  setting  sun,  which  was 
throwing  his  parting  light  upon  a  quiet  country  scene. 
Many  of  the  hj'mns,  and  that  one  in  particular,  had  been 
read  often,  until  they  lived  in  his  soul.  But  as  he  grew  up, 
the  impressions  were  worn  off  by  more  exciting  and  less 
pure  thoughts  and  pursuits.  He  fell  into  a  course  of  dis- 
sipation and  vice,  and  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  given  up  to 
sin,  and  devoted  to  ruin.  Worn  down  at  last,  and  threat- 
ened with  consumption,  he  was  ordered  into  the  country 


6  HYMN-WRITEBS  AlVD  THEIE  HYMNS. 

for  cliange  of  air  ;  and  after  some  time  sj)ent  in  quietness 
and  retirement,  far  away  from  the  scenes  of  old  temptations, 
lie  wandered  out  one  evening  about  sunset,  and  hanging 
pensively  over  a  gate,  he  watched  the  sun  as  it  sunk  be- 
hind the  copse,  and  was  throwing  its  last  beams  upon  the 
silent  and  peaceful  hill-side.  There  was  a  hush  upon  his 
spirits,  and  suddenly,  as  if  sketched  by  an  unseen  hand 
before  his  inward  eye,  the  little  picture  which  used  to  inter- 
est his  boyish  mind  lived  again,  and  the  h3'mn  which  it 
illustrated  seemed  to  be  spoken  sweetly  to  his  heart — 

And  now  another  clay  is  gone, 
I'll  sing  my  Maker's  praise. 

The  tear  started.  He  had  seen  many  of  his  days  go,  but 
as  yet  his  Maker  had  never  heaxd  an  even-song  from  his 
lips  or  from  his  heart.  What  an  ungrateful  life  his  had 
been  !  The  '  remembrance  was  grievous.'  But  his  heart 
was  broken,  and  there  and  then  the  softened  man  made  his 
vows  of  return  to  God,  and  offered  the  prayer  which  was 
answered  in  blessings  which  filled  both  the  mornings  and 
evenings  of  his  mature  life  Witn  hymns  and  songs  of 
thanksgiving  and  praise." 

And  how  important,  and  holy,  and  happy  is  the  office  of 
psalms  and  hymns  in  the  service  of  human  nature  amidst 
the  struggles  and  toils,  the  conflicts  and  victories,  the 
sorrows  and  joys  of  mature  life.  Their  mission  has  been 
to  the  multitude  as  well  as  the  individual  heart.  How 
often  has  the  popular  use  of  a  few  songs  swayed  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  nation,  or  quickened,  united, 
directed,  and  rvded  the  energies  of  a  people,  or  perman- 
ently given  a  distinct  character  to  an  entire  race.  .Facts 
would  sustain  the  philosophy  of  the  man  who  said,  "  Let 
me  furnish  a  nation  with  its  songs,  and  I  will  govern  it." 
Psalms  and  hymns,  too,  have  many  times  afforded  the  se- 
cret of  union,  and  harmony,  and  strength,  and  consolation 
to  persecuted  households,  down-trodden  tribes,  and  op- 
pressed poiDulations.  They  have  been  as  food  to  the 
famine-stricken  crowd,  and  as  waters  in  the  wilderness 
to  fugitive  churches.  How  often  have  they  cheered  the 
souls  of  congregated  confessors  in  Eoman  catacombs,  in 
the  recesses  of  Eastern  deserts,  in  the  fastnesses  of  Swiss 
mountains,  and  in  the  Highland  glens  and  moorland  hoi- 


INTEODUCTOEY  CHAPTER.  7 

lows  of  Scotland.  The  psalm  and  choral  chant  have  some- 
times nerved  the  host  for  battle  on  behalf  of  home,  and 
conscience,  and  truth.  The  Divine  Spirit  Himself  has  re- 
corded an  exemplar  "  hallelujah  victory."  Jehoshaphat's 
appeal  for  Divii^j  help  against  the  enemies  of  goodness  and 
faith  was  answered  by  a  revelation  of  Grod's  order  of  battle. 
"And  when  he  had  consulted  with  the  people,  he  ap- 
pointed singers  unto  the  Lord,  and  that  should  praise  the 
beauty  of  holiness  as  they  went  out  before  the  army,  and 
to  say,  Praise  the  Lord,  for  His  mercy  endureth  for  ever. 
And  when  they  began  to  sing  and  to  praise,  the  Lord  set 
ambushments  against  the  children  of  Ammon,  Moab,  and 
Mount  Seir,  which  were  come  against  Judah,  and  they 
\  were  smitten."  The  singers  were  victorious  ;  the  spoil  was 
gathered  to  the  music  of  psalms.  "And  on  the  fourth  day 
they  assembled  themselves  in  the  valley  of  Berachah,  for 
'  there  they  blessed  the  Lord ;  therefore  the  name  of  the 
'same  place  was  called  the  valley  of  Berachah  unto  this 
day.  Then  they  returned  every  man  of  Judah  and  Jeru- 
salem, and  Jehoshaphat  in  the  forefront  of  them,  to  go 
again  to  Jerusalem  with  joy,  for  the  Lord  had  made  them 
to  rejoice  over  their  enemies."  Yes,  and  since  then  many 
a  Christian  army  has  kept  up  the  strain,  and  have  made 
prayerful  hymns  and  hymns  of  praise  their  battle  songs. 
Nor  has  Jehoshaphat's  victory  been  the  only  "hallelujah 
victory."  It  was  probably  repeated  once  on  the  Welsh 
border,  and  has  had  its  antitpyes  in  the  history  of  Pro- 
testant struggles  for  freedom  on  many  a  storied  field  of 
Europr". 

And  how  much  of  their  youthful  freshness,  and  manly 
courage,  and  constitutional  vigour,  and  public  spirit, 
nations  owe  to  the  habitual  use  of  their  national  anthems, 
who  can  tell  ?  How  France  has  glowed  at  the  sound  of  a 
popular  hymn  !  how  Scotland  kindles  at  an  old  psalm  or 
song  which  embalms  the  name  of  her  hero  !  and  how 
Englishmen's  hearts  swell  and  come  together  when  they 
sing 

Rule  Britannia ! 

or  when  they  uncover  and  unite  in  the  grand  old  strain, 
Grod  save  our  gracious  Queen ! 
It  is  most  pleasant  to  the  Chiistian,  however,  to  trace 


8  HYMN- WRITERS  XNV  THEIR  HYJINS. 

the  influence  of  devout  psalmody  in  tlie  shaping  of  a 
people's  happily  distinct  character.  Among  the  most 
blessed  results  of  faithfully-administered  truth  to  a  teach- 
able and  obedient  people,  is  their  perpetuated  fondness  for 
"  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs."  Nor  can  there 
be  any  richer  or  more  agreeable  fruits  of  the  Holy  Spirit's 
work  upon  human  masses  than  a  popular  love  for  psalm- 
ody, the  culture  of  sacred  music  in  the  people's  homes,  and 
the  habitual  enjoyment  of  favourite  hymns  continued  from 
parents  to  children,  and  renewing  its  freshness  among 
children's  children.  AVill  the  old  Scotch  version  of  the 
psalms  ever  cease  to  be  music  to  those  who  owe  so  much 
to  the  covenanting  fathers  who  first  sang  them  ?  Will  the 
spiritual  songs  of  the  first  Reformers  ever  die  out  from  the 
mind  and  heart  of  Germany  ?  The  cheerful  character  and 
influence  of  the  primitive  churches  left  memorials  for  many 
generations  among  the  hymn-singing  populations  of  many 
spots  in  Europe.  Richard  Baxter's  labours  at  Kidder- 
minster were  crowned  with  many  a  holy  song.  He  toiled 
and  prayed  until  from  every  house  within  his  pastorate 
there  was  daily  the  all  but  ceaseless  voice  of  psalms  and 
hymns.  He  was  literally  "compassed  about  with  songs  of 
deliverance."  Vital  piety  makes  people  cheerful,  and 
their  cheerfulness  naturally  expresses  itself  in  devout  and 
merry  rhyme  and  metre. 

Perhaps  no  district  in  England  has  a  population  so 
deeply  and  widely  imbued  with  religious  thought  and  feel- 
ing as  the  county  of  Cornwall.  As  a  whole,  the  Cornish 
folk  may  be  called  a  religious  people,  and  their  great  love 
for  sacred  music,  and  especially  hymn  singing,  may  be  at 
once  a  cause  and  efi'ect  of  their  sustained  religious  life. 
Nowhere  has  the  gospel  of  Christ  wrought  more  happy 
changes ;  nowhere  has  it  left  a  more  permanently  cheerful 
impress ;  nowhere  could  an  entire  population  so  generally 
illustrate  obedience  to  the  apostolic  rule,  "  Is  any  merry? 
let  him  sing  psalms."  No  one  who  has  seen  them  can  for- 
get the  lines  and  knots  of  merry  creatures  who  preserve  a 
kind  of  elegant  appearance  amidst  their  rough  work,  in 
open  sheds,  and  among  heaps  of  tin  and  copper  ore  on  the 
surface  of  the  Cornish  mines.  Who  could  forget  these 
girls'  standard  and  style  of  beauty?  and  who  that  has 
heard  them  will  ever  forget  the  music  of  their  hymns,  as 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER.  9 

tliey  sing  in  concert,  while  they  ply  their  hammers,  that 
mnsic  at  once  so  reverent,  so  earnest,  and  so  lovely  ?  They 
seem  to  have  hymns  appropriate  for  all  times  and  seasons, 
and  sometimes  their  stanzas  have  been  beautifully  timed. 
A  few  of  the  more  gay  and  thoiightless  of  a  large  group 
had  been  indulging  a  laugh  at  one  good  Christian  girl, 
■whom  they  charged  with  inconsistent  conformity  to  the 
world  because  she  wore  a  pair  of  tasteful  ear-rings.  The 
jeers  were  meekly  borne  for  awhile,  but  at  length  the  per- 
secuted girl  lifted  up  her  voice  in  song,  and  quietly  taking 
the  jewels  from  her  ears,  she  placed  them  on  the  block 
before  her,  and  demolished  them  with  a  stroke  of  her 
hammer,  singing  as  she  did  it  a  stanza  from  a  favourite 
hymn — 

Neitlier  passion  nor  pride  Thy  cross  can  abide, 

But  melt  ia  the  fountain  that  streams  from  Thy  side. 

Her  persecutors  were  silenced,  and  blushed  as  she  sang 
out  her  hymn  of  submissive  but  triumphant  faith.  The 
same  spirit  of  holy  song  is  breathed  by  the  men,  who  cheer 
the  deep  caverns  in  which  they  toil  with  heartfelt  psalmody. 
The  road-side  and  the  cottage  hearth,  the  engine-house, 
the  stream-works,  the  moorland,  and  the  barren  earn,  the 
unpretending  chapel,  and  the  quiet  grave-yai-d,  are  all 
hallowed  in  turn  by  the  melodies  and  harmonies  of  this 
hymn  and  anthem-loving  race.  Seldom  have  the  hearts 
and  voices  of  a  race  been  more  graciously  blended  in  the 
service  of  Him  who  said,  by  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  "  In 
the  midst  of  the  church  will  I  sing  jiraise  unto  Thee." 

The  claims  of  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  universal  man, 
and  its  adaptation  to  all  races  and  people,  circumstances 
and  times,  are  beaiitifully  illustrated  by  the  fact,  that  those 
happy  features  of  character  which  it  impressed  upon  the 
Cornish  families  are  the  same  with  those  which  distinguish 
the  Christianized  tribes  of  Southern  Africa.  On  the  tes- 
timony of  a  venerable  misssionary,  who  was  the  first  to 
open  the  gospel  to  the  Little  Namacquas,  that  poj)ular  love 
of  sacred  song  which  is  so  peculiar  to  the  Keltic  masses  in 
Western  England,  became  the  habitual  feeling  and  dis- 
tinctive pleasure  of  the  converted  African  tribes.  Hymn 
singing  in  both  cases  seemed  to  be  the  natural  action  of 
public   religious  life.    Spiritual  songs,    says  the  African 


10  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

evangelist,  were  soon  interwoven  with  their  daily  exist- 
ence ;  all  their  movements  seemed  to  be  made  to  the  music 
of  hymns  ;  and  how  many  a  time  I  have  listened  to  their 
voices  of  an  evening,  as  they  walked  homeward  from  the 
field  or  the  bush  singing  some  favovirite  hymn,  as  a  kind  of 
spiritual  march.  I  remember  having  my  heart  deeply 
touched  once  as  I  hearkened  to  the  happy  bands  psalming 
it,  and  responding  to  one  another  while  approaching  the 
village.     I  caught  the  strain  of  an  old  Dutch  hymn — 

Faith  loves  the  Saviour,  and  beholds 

His  sufferings,  dtc^tli,  and  pain; 
And  this  shall  ne'er  grow  old  nor  cold, 

TiU  we  with  Him  shall  reign. 

It  was  the  song  of  Southern  Africa's  first  love.  The 
first-fruits  of  Ethiopia's  praise  to  God  ;  the  tuneful  earnest 
of  what  an  ancient  hymn  foretold.  "Princes  shall  come 
out  of  Eg3'pt,  Ethiopia  shall  soon  stretch  out  her  hands 
unto  God.  Sing  unto  God,  ye  kingdoms  of  the  earth  ;  0 
sing  praises  unto  the  Lord  ;  Selah  !" 

But  what  Christian  psalmody  has  done  for  nations,  and 
races,  and  tribes,  it  does  for  many  an  individual  man  and 
woman.  What  hymns  have  been  to  the  multitude  they 
have  been  to  many  a  solitary  Christian  soul.  To  the 
gentle  and  to  the  simple,  to  the  great  and  to  the  small,  to 
the  bond  and  to  the  free,  to  the  strong  and  to  the  weak,  to 
the  cultured  and  to  the  rude,  divine  songs  have  served  to 
brighten  and  bless  the  different  stages  and  turns  of  per- 
sonal history.  Many  of  the  ruling  spirits  of  the  world, 
men  whose  names  will  be  always  landmarks  in  history, 
have  had  tender  fondness  for  psalmody  and  holy  song. 
There  have  been  rojal  psalmists,  imperial  songsters,  and 
courtly  hymnists.  Many  a  great  leader  of  his  generation, 
while  he  has  been  guiding  the  world's  mind  and  heart 
amidst  the  dangers  of  revolution,  and  through  the  deep 
and  broad  processes  of  moral  and  religious  renewal,  has 
cheered  his  own  soul  with  favourite  hymns.  Hymns  have 
been  his  chosen  expressions  of  joy  in  success.  Hymns 
have  been  his  solace  in  moments  of  darkness  and  depres- 
sion. Luther  and  his  companions,  with  all  their  bold 
readiness  for  danger  and  death  in  the  cause  of  tru.th,  had 
times  when  their  feelings  were  akin  to  those  of  a  divine 


INTEODTJCTOEY  CHAPTER.  1 1 

singer  tvIio  said,  "  Wiiy  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul  ?" 
But  in  such,  hours  the  unflinching  Reformer  would  cheerily 
say  to  his  friend  Melancthon,  "Come,  Philip,  let  us  sing 
the  forty-sixth  Psalm  ;"  and  they  could  sing  it  in  Luther's 
own  characteristic  version — 

A  sure  stronghold  our  God  is  He, 

A  timely  shield  and  weapon  ; 
Our  help  He'll  be,  and  set  us  free 

From  every  ill  can  happen. 


And  were  the  world  with  devils  fill'd, 

All  eager  to  devour  us, 
Our  souls  to  fear  shall  little  yield, 

They  cannot  overpower  us. 

Later  Reformers  in  our  own  land  have  been  equally  re- 
markable for  their  love  of  sacred  music,  and  their  aptness 
at  using  it  for  the  encouragement  of  the  multitude,  and 
their  own  secret  comfort  amidst  their  sufferings  and  toils. 

Some  of  the  noblest  intellects,  too,  the  most  cultured  and 
refined  of  their  race — men  whose  thoughts  and  feelings  are 
embalmed  in  an  undying  literature,  have  had  each  his  own 
cherished  psalm  or  tenderly-loved  hymn.  And  the  psalm 
or  hymn  has  been  called  up  in  every  time  of  need ;  as  if  it 
had  a  comforting  power  which  no  other  voice  coxild  bring. 
The  great  Niebuhr  was  lovingly  attached  to  von  Lowen- 
stern's  hymn — 

Christ,  Thou  the  champion  of  that  war-worn  host. 

And  might  be  heard  now  and  then  refr.-'sjiing  his  own  soul 
amidst  its  intense  labours  and  researches  by  murmuring 
the  metrical  prayer — 

And  give  us  peace  ;  peace  in  the  church  and  school, 
Peace  to  the  powers  who  o'er  our  country  rule, 
Peace  to  the  conscience,  peace  within  the  heart. 
Do  Thou  impart. 

So  shnll  Thy  .p-oorlness  here  be  still  adored, 
Thou  Guardian  of  Thy  little  flock,  dear  Lord  ; 
And  heaven  and  earth  through  all  eternity 
ShaU  worship  Thee ! 

And  what  was  the  solace  of  Niebuhr  has  been  the  conso- 
lation of  many  a  commanding  and  highly  cultured  mind. 


12  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HY^INS. 

The  hA'^mn  of  joy  and  the  hymn  of  plaintive  appeal  have 
ministered  strength  and  peace,  in  sweet  alternation,  through 
all  the  scenes  of  mental  action. 

And  how  often  has  the  master  mind,  the  truly  great  soul 
finished  its  brilliant  and  successful  course  with  a  closing 
hymn !  Saintly  and  useful  men  like  Rowland  Hill  have 
died  on  consecrated  ground  with  the  music  of  a  hymn  in 
their  souls.  But  minds  of  another  class  also  have  ended 
their  course  with  songs.  "Walter  Scott's  last  utterances 
were  stanzas  of  favourite  ancient  hymns.  It  is  stated  that 
Cobden  departed  repeating  that  grand  old  strain,  rendered 
from  the  German  by  John  Wesley— 

Thee  will  I  love,  my  joy,  my  crown, 
Thee  will  I  love,  my  Lord,  my  God  : 

Thee  will  I  love,  beneath  Thy  frown. 
Or  smile — Thy  sceptre  or  Thy  rod  : 

What  though  iny  flesh  and  heart  decay, 

Thee  shall  I  love  in  endless  day  ! 

And  our  own  Prince  Albert  "the  good,"  breathed  as  his 
last  song,  while  his  spirit  mounted — 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  ! 

And  how  many  thousands  after  thousands  in  the  more 
retired  and  obscure  scenes  of  life  have  had  psalms  and 
hymns  of  victory  on  their  dying  lips. 

Indeed,  the  holiest  and  best  of  people,  those  who  have 
done  most  to  make  the  world  happy,  have  hallowed  every 
stage  of  life,  every  turn  in  their  history,  every  relation 
which  they  have  sustained,  and  every  time  and  season  of 
their  mortal  pilgrimage  with  "  thanksgiving  and  the  voice 
of  melody."  Their  record  is  above  ;  but  neither  they  nor 
their  hymns  can  be  forgotten  below.  Many  of  their  names 
are  recorded  in  the  following  pages ;  and  some  of  their 
hymns  are  interwoven  with  the  outlines  of  their  character 
and  the  memorials  of  their  history. 

And  perhaps  the  lover  of  sacred  melody  will  learn  to 
love  hymn-writers  and  their  hymns  more  deeply,  and  to 
sing  with  more  spiritual  joy,  while  he  spends  an  hour, 
now  and  then,  over  chapters  about  the  first  hymn-book  ; 
and  hymns  of  the  latter  day  morning,  hymns  of  the  fathers, 
and  hymns  of  old  England's  Christian  birth-time ;  hymns 


INTEOBUCTORY  CHAPTER.  13 

from  old  cloisters,  songs  in  high,  j^laces,  and  songs  in 
prison.  From  tliese  he  may  pass  to  chapters  about  psalms 
in  English  metre,  hymn  menders,  and  songs  of  creation. 
Then  come  hymns  about  the  book,  songs  of  the  Sabbath, 
hymns  by  the  waj^,  hymns  on  the  waters,  hymns  of  the 
morning,  and  songs  in  the  night.  Nor  will  the  world  ever 
lose  its  interest  in  chapters  on  marriage  songs  and  birth- 
day hymns,  or  hymns  from  beneath  the  cloud,  hymns  of 
Gethsemane  and  the  cross,  funeral  hymns,  judgment  hymns, 
and  songs  of  glory. 

To  catch  the  spirit,  and  to  be  enriched  with  the  music  of 
the  first  hymn-book,  is  to  be  prepared  for  dally  "  speaking 
to  ourselves  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs, 
singing  and  making  melody  in  our  hearts  to  the  Lord ; 
giving  thanks  always  for  all  things  unto  God  and  the 
Father,  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  "  and  a  life 
thus  spent  will  certainly  issue  in  songs  of  glory. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

TEE  FIEST  E72IN-B00E. 

"  Thy  statutes  liave  been  my  songs  in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage." 

ISpeak  to  yourselves  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual 
songs,  singing  and  making  melody  in  your  heart  to  the 
Lord.  Happy  advice  from  a  happy  man  !  If  ever  man 
had  his  life  on  earth  enriched  and  brightened  by  the 
psalmody  of  heaven,  St.  Paul  was  that  man.  He  seems 
now  and  then  to  be  an  impersonation  of  the  jubilant 
religion  which  he  preached.  Here  and  there  he  uses  a 
threefold  form  of  speech,  as  if  the  notion  of  a  Trinity  were 
ever  in  his  mind,  and  as  if  the  Triune  form  gave  the  com- 
pletest  possible  expression  to  his  feeling  as  to  that  full 
harmony  of  fixed  belief,  triumphant  principle,  and  exidtant 
feeling,  to  which  he  called  the  Christian  Church.  He 
challenged  the  generations  of  the  future  to  an  unbroken 
service  of  song,  and  the  family  lines  of  God's  children 
have  ever  since  been  singing  and  chanting  in  resjjonse, 
Paul  had  heard  the  chant  of  the  Temple  service,  and  had 
so  often  joined  in  the  songs  and  hj^mns  of  the  synagogue, 
that,  like  his  fellow  apostles  of  the  circumcision,  he  en- 
joj'ed  ample  means  of  expression  for  all  the  joys  of  the 
Holy  Spirit's  dispensation.  The  church  of  his  fathers  had 
treasured  the  forms  of  praise  which  now  furnish  the 
kingdom  of  Christ  with  hymns  and  songs  for  all  ages  of 
its  militant  and  triumphant  course.  Nor  is  the  harmony 
of  inspired  truth  ever  felt  to  be  more  impressive  than  in 
the  use  which  the  blessed  Spirit  makes  of  Old  Testament 
psalmody  in  his  work  on  the  souls  of  New  Testament 
saints.  The  three  inspired  songs  which  graced  the  mani- 
festation of  Immanuel :  the  rich  gush  of  Mary's  devotional 


THE  HEST  HTMX-BOOK.  15 

joy,  the  proptetic  strain  of  Zacharias,  and  the  holy  song 
of  Simeon,  all  sho^  the  influence  of  Old  Testament  style 
and  spirit.  "  Tlie  Word  of  Christ,"  as  once  issued  in  the 
law  of  "  Moses,  and  in  the  Prophets,  and  in  the  Psalms," 
had  dwelt  in  Marj^'s  heart  so  "  richly"  as  to  give  its  own 
character  to  her  rapturous  utterances.  The  lips  of  Zacharias 
were  touched  with  fire  from  the  very  altar  before  which  the 
Messianic  seers  had  kindled  into  ecstasy.  And  Simeon  had 
chanted  the  hymns  of  his  rapt  ancestry  u.ntil  his  own  in- 
spired sentences  breathed  in  unison  with  voices  from  "holy 
men  of  old."  Mary,  and  Hannah,  and  Deborah  drank 
into  one  another's  spirit ;  and  their  tones  have  that  like- 
ness and  unlikeness  which  belong  to  daughters  of  the  same 
family.  The  celebration  of  Old  Testament  victories  and 
the  joy  of  gospel  salvation  melt  into  oneness  and  harmony 
in  "the  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb."  And  when  will 
earth  or  heaven  cease  to  echo  to  the  psalms  of  ancient 
Zion?  Judah's  holy  song  book,  "  the  Book  of  Psalms,  hath 
exercised  the  hearts  and  lips  of  all  saints,  and  is  reple- 
nished with  the  types  of  aU  possible  spiritual  feelings, 
and  suggests  the  forms  of  all  Grod-ward  emotions,  and 
furnishes  the  choice  expressions  of  all  true  worship,  the 
utterances  of  all  divine  praise,  the  expressions  of  all 
spiritual  humihty,  with  the  raptures  of  all  spiritual  joy." 
This  well-spring  in  the  desert  has  never  failed  to  refresh 
the  j)ilgrim  church  from  age  to  age.  Israelite  and  Sama- 
ritan, "  Greek  and  Jew,  circumcision  and  uncircu.mcision, 
barbarian,  Scythian,  bond  and  free,"  east  and  west,  the 
old  world  and  the  new — all  confess  the  sacred  power  and 
sweetness  of  David's  voice  ;  all  kindle  into  songs  under  his 
leadership.  That  ever-living  sympathy  with  the  most 
cherished  interests  of  God's  children,  that  spirituality 
which  so  deeply  touches  the  believer's  inner  man;  and  that 
expression  which  so  engages  all  conditions  of  men,  and 
adapts  itself  to  all  circumstances  of  humanity ;  indeed,  all 
the  immortal  sweetness,  grandeur,  and  power  which  dis- 
tinguish the  Old  Testament  Psalms,  are  found  living  still, 
and  renewing  their  freshness  in  the  inspired  hymns  and 
songs  of  those  who  went  up  to  the  Temple  in  "the  last 
days,"  and  spoke  "in  other  tongues  the  wonderful  works 
of  God,  as  the  Spirit  gave  them  utterance."  How  much 
like   a  psalm   of  ancient  Israel    is   that   early   song   of 


16  HYMN-WEITERS  ANT)  THEIR  HYMNS. 

the  primitive  Christians  which  the  SjDirit  has  left  on  re- 
cord. The  little  persecuted  community  sang  in  the  style  of 
their  fathers,  when  they  "  lift  up  their  voices  to  God  with 
one  accord  and  said," 

Lord,  Thou  art  God, 

"Wliich  hast  made  heaven  and  earth. 

And  the  sea, 

And  all  that  in  them  is : 

Who  by  the  month  of  David 

Thy  servant,  hath  said, 

Why  did  the  heathen  rage 

And  the  people  imagine  vain  things  ? 

The  kings  of  the  earth  stood  up, 

And  the  rulers  were  gathered  together 

Against  the  Lord, 

And  against  His  Christ. 

Tor  of  a  truth. 

Against  Thy  Holy  Child  Jesus, 

Whom  Thou  hast  anointed, 

Both  Herod  and  Pontius  Pilate, 

With  the  Gentiles, 

And  the  people  of  Israel, 

Are  gathered  together ; 

For  to  do  whatever  Thy  hand 

And  Thy  counsel 

Determined  before  to  be  done. 

And  now,  Lord ! 

Behold  their  threatenings ! 

And  grant  unto  Thy  servants, 

That  with  all  boldness 

They  may  speak  Thy  word. 

By  stretching  f  oi'th  Thy  hand  to  heal ; 

And  that  signs  and  wonders 

May  be  done 

By  the  name 

Of  Thy  Holy  Child  Jesus. 

Nearest  akin  to  these  odes  of  highest  inspiration  are  the 
songs  of  the  synagogue  service.  The  family  features,  and 
much  in  the  distinctive  manner,  sometimes  deeply  touch 
the  soul.  In  their  simple  grandeur,  lofty  vigour,  solemn 
measure,  and  glow  of  holy  feeling,  they  are  felt  to  be  close 
allies  of  the  anthems  of  revelation;  though  not  bearing 
the  divine  honours  of  those  holier  forms  into  which  the 
Spirit  of  God  once  "  breathed  the  breath  of  life."  AVould 
you  realize  the  grand  simplicity  of  primitive  hymns  ?  Then 
go  to  the  synagogue  and  hear  the  lineal  descendants  of 


THE  FIRST  HYMN-BOOK.  17 

Grod's   ancient   people    sing    in   their    Sabbath    morning 
service — 

Praised  be  Thy  name  for  ever,  0  our  Bang  ! 

Thou  Sovereign  G-od ! 

The  Great  and  the  Holy  in  heaven  and  in  earth  : 

For  unto  Thee,  Jehovah,  our  God, 

And  the  God  of  our  fathers, 

Belong  song  and  praise ; 

Hymn  and  psalm  ; 

Strength  and  dominion ; 

Victory,  greatness,  and  power  ; 

Adoration  and  glory ; 

Holiness  and  majesty ; 

Blessings  and  thanksgivings ; 

From  this  time  forth  and  for  ever  I 

Blessed  art  Thou,  Jehovah  ! 

Sovereign  God ! 

Great  in  praises ; 

The  God  of  thanksgivings ; 

The  Lord  of  wonders ; 

The  Chooser  of  song  and  psalmody  ; 

King  Eternal !     Ever-living  God  ! 

Sometimes  the  utterance  of  the  synagogue  is  as  the 
voice  of  one  longing  soul ;  now  jubilant,  now  melting  into 
warm,  tender,  spiritual  feeling,  and  now  swelling  again 
into  lofty  celebrations  of  Divine  Majesty ;  as  if  the  devout 
heart  breathed  by  turns  the  spirit  of  the  Psalms,  the 
Canticles,  and  the  Prophets.  So  it  is  in  "  the  Hymns  of 
Glory." 

Sweet  hymns  I  attune. 

And  songs  I  weave. 

For  my  soul  panteth  after  Thee  I 

My  soul  longeth  in  the  shadow  of  Thy  hand 

All  Thy  secret  of  secrets  to  know  ! 

Whilst  my  words  speak  Thy  glory, 

My  heart  is  yearning  for  Thy  love. 

Therefore  in  Thee  I  speakof  Thy  glorious  things; 

And  with  songs  of  love  I  honour  Thy  name : 

I  will  tell  of  Thy  glory 

Though  I  saw  Thee  not ; 

And  though  I  knew  Thee  not, 

I  arrange  my  similitudes  of  Thee. 

By  the  hand  of  Thy  prophets, 

By  Thy  trusty  servants, 

Thou  hast  symbolized  the  glorious  honour  of  Thy  majesty. 

Thy  greatness  and  Thy  might 

They  named  after  the  powers  of  Thy  creation. 

B 


18  HYMN-WBITEES  AND  THEIE  HYMNS. 

They  compared  Thee, 

But  not  as  Thou  art ; 

And  they  likened  Thee, 

According-  to  Thy  works, 

They  represented  Thee  in  midtiplied  visions  : 

Yet  behold,  Thou  art  one  in  all  semblances ! 

The  Head,  Thy  "Word,  is  the  Truth, 

Proclaiming  from  the  beginning, 

From  generation  to  generation. 

Thy  people  are  ever  seeking  Thee ! 

An'ay  thyself  in  the  multitude  of  my  psalms, 

And  let  my  singing  come  near  to  Thee  ! 

Let  my  praise  be  a  crown  to  Thy  head. 

And  my  hymns  acceptable  incense. 

Let  the  song  of  the  poor  be  precious  to  Thee, 

As  the  anthems  over  the  gifts  of  the  altar. 

Let  my  blessing  ascend  to  the  Almighty  Head, 

The  Beginning,  the  Lifegiver,  the  Righteous  Mighty  One ! 

And  when  I  bless,  let  Thy  Head  be  inclined  to  me, 

And  take  it  to  Thyself  as  chief  perfumes  ; 

Let  it  be  pleasant  to  Thee, 

For  my  soid  panteth  unto  Thee  I 

The  claiigliters  of  Israel  liave  not  yet  lost  the  spirit  of 
ancient  psalmody.  There  are  Hebrew  women  now  who 
can  emulate  the  mothers  of  Hebrew  song,  who  have 
spiritual  warmth  enough  to  revive  the  service  of  praise  in 
both  synagogue  and  household  ;  and  whose  heart,  intellect, 
taste,  and  culture  are  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  hymns  of 
their  fathers  may  be  happily  rendered  in  English  metre  and 
rhyme.  Mrs.  Hester  Eothschild  has  inserted  the  opening 
hymn  of  the  Sabbath  morning  service  in  her  volume  of 
"  Prayers  and  Meditations,"  and  acknowledges  her  obliga- 
tion to  the  talented  pen  of  Mrs.  Julius  Collins  for  this 
beautiful  version : — 

Before  Thy  heavenly  Word  revealed  the  wonders  of  Thy  will ; 
Before  the  earth  and  heavens  came  forth  from  chaos,  deep  and 

still; 
E'en  then  Thou  reignedst  Lord  supreme !    as  Thou  wilt  ever 

reign. 
And  moved  Thy  Holy  Spirit  o'er  the  dark  unfathomed  main ; 

But  when  through  all  the  empty  space  Thy  mighty  voice  was 

heard. 
Then  darkness  fled,  and  heavenly  light  came  beaming  at  Thy  word ; 
All  nature  then  proclaimed  the  king,  most  blessed  and  adored ! 
The  great  Creator !     God  alone  ! — the  Universal  Lord ! 


THE  PIEST  HYMN-BOOK.  19 

And  when  this  vast  created  world  returns  to  endless  night, 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  fade  away  at  Thy  dread  word  of 

might ; 
Still  Thon  in  Majesty  wilt  rule,  Almighty  One  alone, 
Great  G-od,  with  mercy  infinite,  on  thy  exalted  throne. 

Immortal  power !  Eternal  One  !  with  Thee  what  can  compare, 
Thy  glory  shines  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  fills  the  ambient  air  ; 
All  time,  aU  space,  by  Thee  iUumed,  grows  bright  and  brighter  still, 
Obedient  to  Thy  high  behest,  and  to  Thy  heavenly  will. 

To  Thee  dominion  sole  belongs,  and  'tis  to  Thee  alone, 
My  Father!  Saviour!  living  drod  !  I  make  my  soitows  known  ; 
Thy  love  celestial  and  divine  descends  upon  my  heart, 
Inspiring  courage,  hope,  and  joy,  and  bidding  grief  depart. 

Protected  by  Thy  boundless  love,  my  body  sinks  to  rest ; 
My  soul,  within  Thy  heavenly  arm  reposes,  calm  and  blest. 
Lord  of  my  life  !  in  darkest  night  I  sleep  and  have  no  fear. 
And  in  the  early  dawn  of  day  1  wake  and  find  Thee  near. 

As  tlie  official  honours  and  powers  which  have  their 
united  seat  in  Him  who  is  Head  over  all  things  to  the 
Chnrch,  are  by  His  Spirit  divided  and  distributed  among 
His  people,  so  the  "lights  and  perfections  "  which  are  all 
harmoniously  embodied  in  the  psalmody  of  Holy  Writ,  are 
scattered  and  variously  apportioned  among  the  later 
children  of  song.  With  one  is  the  grandeur,  with  another 
the  beauty ;  here  the  sweetness,  there  the  power ;  this 
voice  is  plaintive,  that  triumphant.  Now  we  have  harmony, 
now  gracefiilness ;  now  deep  contemplative  life,  and  now  a 
fidl  and  holy  unction.  There  are  different  ministrations. 
Nor  has  the  gift  of  coming  most  agreeably  near  to  the 
standard  of  highest  hymnic  inspiration  always  fallen  on 
those  to  whom  the  Church  would  soonest  look  for  aid. 
That  Grod,  who  perfectly  knows  every  man's  mental  and 
moral  constitution,  and  sees  at  a  glance  all  the  fitnesses  of 
human  agency  for  the  fidfilment  of  His  own  purposes, 
may  sometimes  tax  the  gifts  of  even  a  Balaam,  and, 
wrapping  him  in  awful  visions,  constrain  him  to  give  out 
utterances  with  which  his  own  will  and  disposition  are 
somewhat  in  discord,  and  which  become  immortalized  as 
at  once  witnesses  for  God,  and  memorials  of  the  faithless 
prophet's  imconsecrated  talents.  A  Rousseau  may  dream 
of  heavenly  music,  and  wake  to  jot  down  the  melody  which 
has  helped  many  Christians  to  give  touching  expression  to 


20  IIYMN-WKITEKS  A^D  TnEIR  HYMXS. 

their  purest  and  sweetest  liymns.  And  who  would  expect 
a  combination  of  features  so  near  akin  to  those  of  old 
prophetic  psalmody  as  are  now  associated  in  a  few  produc- 
tions of  Byron,  Scott,  and  Olivers  ?  "What  a  trio !  a 
sensuous  scorner,  and  idolized  novelist,  and  a  Methodist 
preacher  !  And  were  all  these  among  the  prophets  ?  If 
to  write  hymns  like  prophets'  hymns  is  to  have  the  shadow 
of  a  prophet's  claim,  let  them  share  the  honour  of  being-  in 
the  train  of  prophetic  hymnists.  The  three  men  wrote  three 
remarkable  hymns,  each  of  which  is  instinct  with  some 
virtue  of  Hebrew  psalmody.  Byron  has  happily  caught  the 
spirit  of  the  137th  Psalm,  and  in  his  plaintive  but  spirited 
melody  gives  the  soul  pleasant  yet  mournful  touches,  after 
the  manner  of  the  original  ode,  "By  the  rivers  of  Babylon," 
etc. — 

We  sat  down  and  wept  by  the  waters 

Of  Babel,  and  thought  of  the  day 
When  our  foe,  in  the  hue  of  his  slaughters, 

Made  Salem's  high  places  his  prey; 
And  ye,  oh  her  desolate  daughters ! 

Were  scatter' d  all  weeping  away. 

While  sadly  we  gazed  on  the  river 

Which  rolled  on  in  freedom  below, 
They  demanded  the  song ;  but,  oh  never 

That  triumph  the  stranger  shall  know ! 
May  this  right  hand  be  wither' d  for  ever, 

Ere  it  string  our  high  harp  for  the  foe. 

On  the  vdllow  that  harp  is  suspended — 

Oh  Salem  !  its  sound  should  be  free  ; 
And  the  hour  when  thy  glories  were  ended, 

But  left  me  that  token  of  thee  : 
And  ne'er  shall  its  soft  tones  be  blended 

With  the  voice  of  the  spoiler  by  me  I 

He  who  could  breathe  so  deeply  in  unison  with  the  harp 
of  captive  Judah  cannot,  with  all  his  sins  and  errors,  be 
shut  out  from  among  the  children  of  sacred  minstrelsy.  It 
may  still  be  a  wonder  how  such  a  hand  as  his  could  string 
its  harp  to  melody  like  this;  but  there  must  have  been 
something  in  the  poet,  both  in  his  heart  and  intellect, 
which  was  capable  of  occasional  sympathy  with  the  sublime 
mysteries  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  grand  march  of  its 
history,  and  the  deep  variations  of  its  prophetic  songs.  It 
was  this  occasional  sympathy  which  expressed  itself  in  the 


THE  FIRST  HYMN-BOOK.  21 

awful  dramas,  "Cain"  and  "Heaven  and  Earth,"  and  which 
sometimes  showed  itself  in  more  pleasing  beauty  and  power 
in  his  "  Hebrew  Melodies."  "Will  the  religious  world  ever 
forget  his  musical  verses  on  Sennacherib  ? 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  tlie  fold ; 

but  where  and  when  had  the  touch  been  given  which  ever 
after  acted  now  and  then  like  a  charm,  and  hushed  his 
dark  tempestuous  soul  into  communion  with  the  scenes,  and 
the  men,  and  the  music  of  the  Bible  ?  Minds  and  hearts 
like  his  are  not  left  by  Grod  without  Divine  visitation  from 
above.  Truth  speaks  at  intervals  with  commanding  power. 
A  loving  voice  sometimes  whispers,  "My  salvation  is 
near ; "  and  to  Byron  such  a  voice  came  in  his  earlier 
course. 

"Lord  Byron  and  I  met  once,"  said  an  old  man  to  a 
friend,  as  they  sat  in  the  window  of  a  quiet  little  parlour 
looking  out  vqDon  Falmouth  harbour.  "  It  was  one  even- 
ing in  the  year  1809.  I  had  been  sitting  here  thinking 
how  Providence  and  the  Holy  Ghost  work  together  in 
promoting  the  salvation  of  man,  when  the  servant  girl,  who 
had  gone  out  on  an  errand,  came  rushing  back  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  ran  upstairs.  She  was  closely  followed  by  a 
gentleman,  who,  when  he  saw  me,  apologized  in  a  jaunty 
way  for  his  intrusion,  but  at  the  same  time  walked  in,  took 
a  seat,  and  seemed  at  perfect  ease.  He  was  a  noble,  hand- 
some young  man.  I  shall  never  forget  the  bright  glance 
of  his  light  eyes  as  they  playfully  lightened  from  under 
his  ver}^  dark  eyebrows.  There  sparkles  of  fii'e  seemed  to 
float  on  the  surface  of  a  thoughtful  depth. 

"  'Was  that  your  girl,  old  gentleman?'  said  he. 

"  'Yes,  sir  ;  pray  what  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  nothing ;  but  I  wanted  to  make  her  acquaintance 
on  the  terrace  yonder.  She  gave  me  a  spirited  reception, 
and  provoked  me  to  the  chase ;  so  here  I  am.  I  admire 
that  girl  of  yours  for  her  virtuous  energy.  But  now, 
letting  her  alone  in  her  retreat,  turn  out  your  cards,  and 
let  us  have  some  play.' 

"  'We  keep  no  cards  here,  sir,'  said  I,  looking  at  him 
gravel}-. 

"  'No  cards !  Perhaps  you  have  a  novel  or  two  one  could 
look  over  ? ' 


22  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  UYMNS. 

'*  '  No,  sir  ;  such  things  are  never  found  in  this  house.' 

"  '  What  have  you  got  then,  eh?' 

"  '  I  have  a  book  here  that  might  interest  you,'  I  replied, 
'  and  one  that  I  am  sure  will  not  only  refine  your  taste,  but 
do  your  heart  good.'  I  opened  the  Bible  before  him.  He 
started.  The  gay  life  passed  away  from  his  countenance, 
and  he  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  while  I  gave  him  some 
lessons  on  the  Bible  and  from  the  Bible.  '  I  have  not  the 
pleasui-e  of  knowing  your  name,  sir,'  said  I,  as  he  rose  to 
d.ej)art,  '  but  I  pray  God  to  bless  you.' 

'''Thank  you,'  was  his  parting  reply,  'my  name  is 
Greorge,  Lord  Byron.     Good-bye  ! '  " 

It  was  the  future  poet  on  his  way  to  Lisbon,  and  who 
knows  how  far  the  quiet  old  Methodist's  lesson  "on  the 
Bible  and  from  the  Bible"  influenced  his  after  thought  and 
feeling,  as  the  author  of  "  Hebrew  Melodies;"  and  was  it 
the  echo  of  that  good  little  man's  touching  appeal  that 
sometimes  in  after  days,  and  in  other  climes,  made  him 
"  silent  and  sombre,"  as  when  he  said  in  the  presence  of 
his  friend  Shelley,  "  Here  is  a  little  book  which  somebody 
has  sent  me  about  Christianity,  that  has  made  me  very 
uncomfortable  ;  the  reasoning  seems  to  me  very  strong,  the 
proofs  are  very  staggering.  I  don't  think  you  can  answer 
it,  Shelley,  at  least,  I  am  sure  I  can't,  and  what  is  more,  I 
don't  wish  it."  Poor  Byron!  his  heart  cherished  some 
early  lessons  "on  the  Bible  and  from  the  Bible;"  and 
sometimes,  as  in  his  correspondence  with  Mr.  Shepherd, 
prompted  him  to  express  his  feelings  of  concern  about  his 
own  spiritual  condition,  by  nobly  saying,  "I  can  assure 
you  that  all  the  fame  which  ever  cheated  humanity  into 
higher  notions  of  its  importance  would  never  Aveigh  in  my 
mind  against  the  pure  and  pious  interest  which  a  virtuous 
being  maj^  be  pleased  to  take  in  my  welfare."  But  what- 
ever he  owed  to  the  words  and  prayers  of  the  old  man  in 
the  quiet  parlour  at  Falmouth,  he  owed  something,  and, 
perhaps,  much,  to  another,  who  seems  to  have  been  the 
only  man  who  was  kind,  and  faithful,  and  Christian 
enough  to  warn  him  against  evil,  and  recommend  him  to 
the  good,  in  the  midst  of  his  successes,  and  in  the  height  of 
his  poetic  glory.     That  man  was  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

"  Would  you  have  me  turn  Methodist?"  said  Byron,  in 
reply  to  his  friend's  advice. 


THE  FIRST  HYMN-BOOK.  23 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "I  cannot  conceive  of  your  being 
a  Methodist,  but  you  might  be  a  Catholic  Christian." 

His  heart  seems  never  to  have  lost  the  impression  of 
that  affectionate  touch,  and  he  recorded  it  by  saying,  "I 
have  known  Sir  Walter  Scott  long  and  well,  and  in  occa- 
sional situations  which  call  forth  the  real  character ;  and 
I  can  assure  you  that  his  character  is  worthy  of  admir- 
ation. I  say  that  Walter  Scott  is  as  nearly  a  good 
man  as  man  can  be,  because  I  know  it  by  experience  to 
be  the  case."  Scott  had  shown  himself  to  be  Byron's  true 
friend ;  but  he  proved  too  that  he  ^was  akin  to  him  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  Hebrew  psalmist.  His  higher  moral  stand- 
ing, however,  gave  him  the  advantage,  and  his  immortal 
hymn  is  more  full  in  its  conformity  to  the  ancient  and  holy 
standard.  Byron  had  the  pathos  and  the  tone  of  wailing 
Israel,  but  Scott,  equal  in  all  this,  entered  into  the  spirit  of 
Hebrew  worship,  and  rises  into  the  grandeur  of  devout 
submission  and  holy  trust. 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved, 

Out  of  the  land  of  bondage  came  ; 
Her  father's  God  before  her  moved, 

An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 
By  day  along  the  astonished  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimsoned  sands 

Returned  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answered  keen : 
And  Zion's  daughters  poured  their  lays, 

"With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone ; 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 


But  present  still,  though  now  unseen, 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day ; 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path, 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night ; 
Be  Thou  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  buxnins:  and  a  shining-  lijrht. 


24  HYMN-WEITEBS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams, 

The  tp'ant's  pest,  the  Gentile's  scorn; 
No  censer  round  oiu"  altar  beams, 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  trump,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said  the  blood  of  goat, 

The  flesh  of  rams  I  will  not  prize ; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought, 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice. 

But  it  remained  for  the  Methodist  preacher  to  show  the 
modern  hymn  in  its  stronger  family  likeness  to  those  old 
spiritual  songs  in  which  all  beautiful,  grand,  and  devout 
thoughts,  expressions,  and  feelings  are  so  richly  combined. 
He  has  done  more  than  this.  He  has  brought  the  spirit  of 
the  old  covenant  into  harmony  with  that  of  the  new  ;  and 
in  one  hymn  has  finely  blended  the  voices  of  all  Abraham's 
spiritual  children,  whether  "  Greek  or  Jew,  barbarian, 
Scythian,  bond  or  free."  His  hymn  takes  position  above 
those  of  Byron  and  Scott.  The  hymns  of  this  remarkable 
trio  are  like  a  "  psalm  of  degrees."  They  move  in  an 
upward  gradation,  raising  the  swell  of  Christian  song  until 
it  rivals  the  music  of  Hebrew  fathers.  Under  Byron's 
hand,  the  distinctive  form  of  beauty  began  to  breathe  and 
unfold  its  tender  charms.  At  Scott's  touch  it  expands  into 
more  majestic  proj)ortions,  and  puts  forth  more  of  its  inner 
life.  But  at  Olivers'  command,  it  manifests  its  maturity  of 
soul,  and  gives  full  and  harmonious  expression  to  all  its 
heavenliness  of  thought  and  affection.  In  the  course  of 
conversation  a  few  years  ago,  the  son  of  an  old  minister 
said,  "  I  remember  my  father  telling  me  that  he  was  once 
standing  in  the  aisle  of  City-road  Chapel,  during  a  Con- 
ference in  Wesley's  time,  and  Thomas  Olivers,  one  of  the 
preachers,  came  down  to  him,  and  unfolding  a  manuscript, 
said,  '  Look  at  this,  I  have  rendered  it  from  the  Hebrew, 
giving  it  as  far  as  I  could  a  Christian  character,  and  I 
have  called  on  Leoni,  the  Jew,  who  has  given  me  a  syna- 
gogue melody  to  suit  it ;  here  is  the  tune,  and  it  is  to  be 
called  Leoni.'  I  read  the  composition,  and  it  was  that 
now  well-known,  grand  imitation  of  ancient  Israel's 
hymns — 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise, 
•  Who  reigns  enthroned  above, 

Ancient  of  everlasting  days, 
And  God  of  love ; 


THE  FIEST  HYMN-BOOK.  25 

Jehovah !  Great  I  am  I 
By  earth  and  heaven  confest ; 
I  bow  and  bless  the  sacred  name 
For  ever  blest  I 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise  ! 
At  whose  supreme  command 
From  earth  I  rise  and  seek  the  joys 
At  His  right  hand  : 
I  all  on  earth  forsake, 
Its  wisdom,  fame,  and  power, 
And  Him  my  only  portion  make, 
My  shield  and  tower. 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise  ! 
Whose  all-sufficient  grace 
Shall  guide  me  all  my  happy  days 
In  all  my  ways  : 
He  by  Himself  hath  sworn, 
I  on  His  oath  depend  ; 
I  shall,  on  eagle's  wings  iipborne, 
To  heaven  ascend ; 
I  shall  behold  His  face, 
I  shall  His  power  adore. 
And  sing  the  wonders  of  His  grace 
For  evermore. 

Though  nature's  strength  decay, 
And  earth  and  hell  withstand, 
To  Canaan's  bounds  I  urge  my  way 
At  His  command : 
The  watery  deep  I  pass 
With  Jesus  in  my  view, 
And  through  the  howling  wilderness 
My  way  pursue. 

The  goodly  land  I  see, 
With  peace  and  plenty  blest, 
A  land  of  sacred  liberty, 
And  endless  rest : 
There  milk  and  honey  flow, 
And  oil  and  wine  abound. 
And  trees  of  life  for  ever  grow. 
With  mercy  crown'd. 

There  dwells  the  Lord  our  King, 
The  Lord  our  Rig-hteoiisness, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  world  and  sin. 
The  Prince  of  Peace ! 
On  Zion's  sacred  height 
His  kingdom  still  maintains. 
And  glorious  with  His  saints  in  light, 
For  ever  reigns  1 


26  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMXS. 

He  keeps  His  own  seciu'e  ; 
He  guards  them  by  His  side ; 
Arrays  in  garments  white  and  pure 
His  spotless  bride ; 
With  streams  of  sacred  bliss, 
With  groves  of  living  joys, 
With  all  the  fruits  of  Paradise, 
He  still  supplies. 

Before  the  great  Three-One 
They  all  exulting  stand, 
And  tell  the  wonders  He  hath  done. 
Through  all  their  land  ; 
The  listening  spheres  attend 
And  swell  the  growing  fame, 
And  sing  in  songs  which  never  end, 
The  wondi'ous  name ! 

The  God  who  reigns  on  high, 
The  great  archangels  sing, 
And  "  Holy,  Holv,  Holy,"  cry, 
"  Almighty  king ! 
Wlio  was  and  is  the  same, 
And  evermore  shall  be  ! 
Jehovah !  Father  I  great  I  Am  ' 
We  worship  Thee  I " 

Before  the  Saviour's  face 
The  ransom'd  nations  bow, 
Overwhelm'd  at  His  almighty  grace, 
For  ever  new : 
He  shows  His  prints  of  love ; 
They  kindle  to  a  flame, 
And  sound,  through  all  the  worlds  above, 
The  slaughter' d  Lamb  ! 

The  whole  triumphant  host 
Give  thanks  to  God  on  high ; 
"  Hail !  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost!" 
They  ever  cry ; 
Hail !  Abraham's  God  and  mine  ! 
I  join  the  heavenly  lays ; 
All  might  and  majesty  are  Thine, 
And  endless  praise  I 

How  little  Bjron  knew,  when  lie  shrank  from  what  he 
thought  to  be  Scott's  recommendation  of  Methodism,  that 
a  Methodist  preacher  would  be  honoured  as  more  than  his 
equal  in  true  "  Hebrew  melodies."  And  how  little  Scott 
thought,    when  he   found  himself  arrested  by  "Wesley's 


THE  FIRST  HYMN-BOOK.  27 

preaching  in  Kelso  churchyard,  that  the  name  of  one  of 
Wesley's  itinerant  companions  would  stand  in  the  lists  of 
immortality  above  his  own,  in  the  line  of  Israelitish 
hymnists.  It  is  interesting,  too,  to  see  posterity  balancing 
the  relative  claims  of  Olivers  and  his  bitter  theological 
antagonist  Toplady.  Wesley  emjjloyed  Olivers  as  his 
''corrector  of  the  press."  But  he  was  more.  He  some- 
times took  part  in  the  doctrinal  strife  which  was  raging 
then  between  the  Arminians  and  the  Calvinists.  Olivers, 
though  once  a  cobbler,  had  a  great  deal  of  native  logic, 
and  could  use  a  syllogism  with  all  the  effect  which  he  was 
once  apt  to  give  to  his  awl.  He  knew  how  to  stitch  up 
collegians  like  Toplady ;  and  poor  Toplady  was  now  and 
then  irritated  under  the  process,  until  bitter  and  even 
vulgar  outcries  were  his  only  mode  of  defence.  "  Mr. 
Wesley,"  cries  he,  "has  taken  refuge  under  a  cobbler's 
apron!"  Alas!  for  the  gentleman  when  the  theological 
polemic  rises.  Human  nature  is  a  strange  complexity, 
even  in  its  most  hallowed  condition,  especially  when  its 
religious  taste  and  temper  take  the  form  of  controversy. 
He  who  grins  about  a  cobbler's  aprou  to-day,  sings  to- 
morrow, 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee ! 

and  has  thus  rendered  it  difficult  to  say  whether  he  or  his 
cobbler  foe  was  the  greater  benefactor  to  the  Christian 
world  when  they  exercised  their  higher  and  diviner  calling 
as  Christian  hymnists.  Toplady' s  name  will  ever  be  balmy 
to  those  whose  tremulous  spirits  feel  the  need  of  the  cross  ; 
while  those  who  can  rise  into  the  jubilant  assurance  of 
pilgrims  on  the  very  banks  of  Jordan  Avill  bless  the 
memory  of  the  man  whose  memorial  is  thus  recorded  by 
his  comjDanions  in  travel  with  characteristic  brevity  and 
force.  "Thomas  Olivers  died  advanced  in  years.  In  his 
younger  days  he  was  a  zealous,  able,  and  useful  travelling 
preacher ;  but  for  a  long  period  of  his  life  he  was  em- 
ployed by  Mr.  Wesley  as  the  corrector  of  his  press.  His 
talents  were  very  considerable  :  and  his  attachment  to  Mr. 
Wesley  and  Methodism  was  fully  evidenced  by  several 
masterly  publications."  He  proved  himself  to  be  no 
mean  writer,  logician,  poet,  and  musical  composer.     With 


28  HYMN-"WKITEES  AND  THEIE  HYMNS. 

all  this  he  was  a  good  man ;  and  long  ago  he  fully  realized 
the  blessedness  which  his  last  stanza  anticipated — 

Hail !  Abraham's  God  and  mine ! 
I  join  the  heavenly  lays ; 
All  might  and  majesty  are  Thine, 
And  endless  praise  1 


CHAPTEE  III. 

HYMNS  OF  TEE  LATTER  BAY  MORNING. 

"  But  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell." 

The  morning  light  of  the  Christian  Church  fell  upon  Pliny 
the  younger ;  and  in  that  light  he  saw  the  martyr  spirit  of 
our  first  century.  He  had  seen  the  Christians  of  his  time 
suffer,  and  knew  that  their  sufferingsnever  broke  their  joy. 
Their  morning  hymns  had  never,  perhaps,  touched  his 
ear ;  hut  he  has  bequeathed  a  precious  testimony  to  the 
cheerful  devotion  of  the  people  who  could  be  charged  with 
no  crime  but  that  of  meeting  on  "a  stated  day  before  it 
was  light,  to  sing  hymns  to  Christ  as  God,"  and  to  renew 
their  mutual  pledges  of  truthfulness,  purity,  and  love. 
Blessed  souls !  ' '  The  word  of  Christ  dwelt  in  them  so 
richly"  that  they  must  needs  ''  prevent  the  dawning  of  the 
day"  with  their  songs.  The  apostolic  spirit  was  still  alive 
in  them.  They  were  rejoicing  in  the  dawn  of  the  latter 
day.  They  were  in  jeopardy  every  hour;  every  little 
group  was  "baptized  for  the  dead;"  but  they  ate  their 
"meat  with  gladness,"  cheering  their  meat-time  with 
joyful  psalmody ;  their  love-feasts  were  brightened  with 
chant  and  chorus,  and  their  homes  were  vocal  with  simple 
melodies  and  favoiuite  hymns.  What  hymns  must  they 
have  been  which  were  pure  overflowings  of  hearts  full  of 
divine  influence  ?  What  songs,  when  every  singer  gave 
out  the  form  of  old  anthems  newly  instinct  with  Christian 
life,  or  extemporized  in  melody  and  rhythm  according  to 
his  own  distinctive  s]jiritual  gift?  What  was  their  stjde  of 
hymn  ?  How  did  they  sing  ?  Their  psalmody  must  have 
been  at  once  a  reiteration  of  the  past  and  an  embodiment 
of  exemplar  songs  for  the  future.  Echoes  from  that  morning 


30  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

of  cluirch.  music  come  to  our  ears  and  hearts  even  now  in 
some  hymns  which  still  breathe  the  perfume  of  an  apostolic 
age.  The  warm  and  jubilant  spirit,  and  the  triumphant 
heavenliness  of  tone  which  distinguish  those  ancient  songs, 
give  life  to  our  modern  liturgies,  and  are  so  like  the  worship 
of  prophets,  apostles,  and  martyrs,  that  in  singing  them 
we  may  enjoy  a  feeling  of  unison  with  choirs  of  the  first 
Christian  converts.  When  we  join  "with  angels  and 
archangels"  in  the  "  thrice  holy , "  or  lift  up  our  hearts  with 
the  '■'■gloria  ■in  excelsis,''^  or  help  to  swell  the  anthem  peal  of 
the  Te  Deum,  are  we  not  using  fragments  from  that  early 
collection  of  hymns  in  which  the  praises  of  the  old  covenant 
saints  were  taken  up  and  poured  onward  in  richer  Christian 
harmony  through  the  first  ages  of  Messiah's  kingdom  ? 
In  them  we  have  the  first  Christian  responses  to  the  songs 
of  patriarchal  and  prophetic  days.  The  first  song  in 
which  the  people  join  at  the  Holy  Communion  "with 
angels  and  archangels,"  etc.,  is  one  of  the  first  echoes  of 
the  Christian  Church  to  those  voices  of  seraphims  which 
the  prophet  heard  in  the  temple,  and  which  were  answered 
and  repeated  from  Patmos  in  the  hearing  of  a  rapt 
apostle : — 

Holy,  holy,  holy, 

Jehovah  Sabaoth, 

The  whole  earth  is  full 

Of  His  glory. 

The  anthem  of  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest,"  sang  by 
the  multitude  of  "heavenly  hosts,"  was  first  responded  to 
by  the  happy  shepherds  as  they  "returned  glorifying  and 
praising  God  for  all  the  things  they  had  heard  and  seen  ;" 
and  then  both  angels  and  shepherds  were  answered  by  the 
martyr  church  in  the  glorious  old  Greek  hymn  which  in 
our  English  Liturgy  the  communicants  are  called  to  chant 
at  the  close  of  the  Sacramental  Supper.  And  if,  as  the 
tradition  goes,  the  Te  Deum  broke  in  alternate  parts  from 
the  lips  of  Ambrose  and  Augustine  during  the  solemnities 
of  Augustine's  baptism,  it  is  probable  that  the  holy  singers 
merely  caught  the  full-toned  expression  of  an  earlier  time, 
the  day-spring  of  the  Church,  when  the  company  of  be- 
lievers gave  forth  utterances  in  which  creeds,  and  praises, 
and  thanksgivings,  and  intense  prayer,  and  living  hopes 
were  interwoven  and  wrought  up  into  one  grand  church 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MORNING.  31 

hymn  for  all  generations  and  all  times.  One  inci- 
dent in  the  history  of  Robert  Hall  serves  to  set  forth  the 
native  majesty  of  the  Te  Beum,  and  its  close  conformity  to 
the  spirit  and  manner  of  inspired  psalms.  He  had  com- 
posed a  sermon  on  a  text  which  had  touched  his  fine 
sense  of  grandeur  and  had  deeply  moved  his  heart.  On 
completing  his  sermon,  he  turned  to  the  concordance  to  find 
the  text.  It  was  not  to  be  found.  It  was  not  in  the  Bible. 
It  was  a  sentence  from  the  Te  Deum,  "  All  the  earth  doth 
worship  Thee,  the  Father  everlasting."  All  ears  are  not 
fine  enough  to  be  charmed  with  the  rhythm  of  these 
ancient  hymns ;  and  many  sincere  worshippers  even  lack 
the  power  of  fairly  appreciating  their  simple  grandeur  and 
glowing  power.  Translations  necessarily  dim  their  glory, 
lower  their  tone,  and  lessen  their  power.  But  now  and 
then  some  hymnist  of  deep  sj^mpathy  with  the  past, 
drinks  inspiration  from  these  ever-living  springs  of  song, 
and  casts  the  whole  breathing  measures  into  metrical  form 
and  rhyme,  which  at  once  suit  the  taste  and  command  the 
hearts  of  wider  multitiides  and  later  times.  How  many 
who  were  never  moved  into  fellowship  with  "  all  the  com- 
pany of  heaven"  by  the  liturgical  translation  of  the  Ter 
Sa7ictus,  have  risen  into  something  like  an  api^roach  to  the 
old  strain  when  singing  Bishop  Mant's  more  popular  but 
beautiful  verses — 

Bright  the  vision  that  delighted 

Once  the  sight  of  Judah's  seer, 
Sweet  the  countless  tongues  united 

To  entrance  the  prophet's  ear. 
Round  the  Lord  in  glory  seated, 

Chembim  and  seraphim 
Fill'd  his  temple,  and  repeated 

Each  to  each  th'  alternate  hymn. 

"  Lord,  thy  glory  fills  the  heaven, 

Earth  is  with  its  fulness  stored  ; 
Unto  Thee  be  glory  given, 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord !" 
Heaven  is  still  with  glory  ringing. 

Earth  takes  iip  the  angels'  cry, 
"Holy,  holy, holy,"  singing, 

"  Lord  of  hosts,  the  Lord  most  high  !  " 

Ever  thus  in  God's  high  praises. 
Brethren,  let  our  tongues  unite ; 


32  HYMN-T^RITEBS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Chief  the  heart  when  duty  raises 

God-ward  at  his  raystic  rite  - 
With  His  seraph  train  before  Him, 

With  His  holy  Church  below, 
Thus  conspire  we  to  adore  Him, 

Bid  we  thus  one  anthem  flow ! 

"  Lord,  Thy  glory  fills  the  heaven. 

Earth  is  with  its  fulness  stored ; 
Unto  Thee  be  glory  given, 

Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  I  " 
Thus  Thy  glorious  name  confessing, 

We  adopt  Thy  angels'  cry, 
"Holy,  holy,  holy,"  blessing 

Thee,  "  the  Lord  of  hosts  most  high  !" 

As  rank  after  rank  from  "the  noble  army  of  mart3rrs" 
passed  away  during  the  morning  tide  of  the  Church,  leaving 
no  record,  and  without  the  least  care  about  the  preservation 
of  their  memory  upon  earth,  so,  many  of  the  hymnists  of 
early  days  were  happy  in  expressing  their  joys  in  song 
while  they  lived,  and  then  departed,  bequeathing  their 
hymns  to  following  generations,  without  a  single  effort  to 
secure  for  their  own  names  the  future  honours  of  author- 
ship. Some  of  their  simple,  tender,  trustful,  hymns,  full 
of  Christ  and  winged  with  heavenliness,  still  remain  as 
nameless  memorials  of  the  generation  whose  purity  insjDired 
contemporary  authorities  with  wonder.  One  hymn  there 
is  which  seems  to  claim  a  place  among  those  which  Pliny 
says  the  Christians  used  to  sing  before  the  morning  dawn. 
It  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  Psalmist,  who  said,  ' '  My  ejes 
prevent  the  night  watches,"  and  may  be  rendered  thus  : — 

From  our  midnight  sleep  uprising,     ■ 
Thee,  Gracious  One,  we  will  adore ; 
Loud  the  angels'  hymn  uplifting 
To  Thee,  Almighty,  evermore  I 
The  holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou ! 
In  mercy's  name,  have  mercy  on  us  now  ! 

From  the  couch  and  death-like  slumber 

Thou  makest  me,  0  Lord,  to  rise : 
Thou  my  mind  and  heart  enlighten, 
And  free  my  lips  from  sinful  ties. 
So  may  I  'fore  Thee,  Triune  God,  vnth  praises  bow ; 
For  l^oly,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou  I 


HYM-NS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MORKLNGt.  33 

With  multitudes  on  multitudes, 

The  coming  Judge  wiU  soon  be  here  ; 
And  ev'ry  deed  of  ev'ry  man 
Wni  bai-e  and  open  then  appear. 
We'll  wait  in  filial  fear,  cheering  our  midnight  now, 
With  holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  and  God  art  Thou ! 

Many  of  tlie  voices  whicli  were  thus  lifted  up  in  tlie 
niglit  watches  of  Pliny's  time  were  contemporaries  of  the 
"  beloved  disciple;"  and  among  the  rhythmical  fragments 
which  survive  there  seem  to  be  traces  of  the  influence  which 
the  last  of  the  apostles  had  shed  upon  the  mind  and  heart 
of  the  youthful  Church.  Indications  may  be  found  here 
and  there  of  familiarity  with  the  last  apostle's  closing 
utterances,  "Hereby  know  ye  the  Spirit  of  God:  every 
spirit  that  confesseth  that  Jesus  Christ  is  come  in  the  flesh, 
is  of  God,  ....  and  we  know  that  the  Son  of  God  is 
come,  and  hath  given  us  an  understanding,  that  we  may 
know  Him  that  is  true,  and  we  are  in  Him  that  is  true, 
even  in  His  Son  Jesus  Christ.  This  is  the  true  God  and 
eternal  life.  Little  children,  keep  yourselves  from  idols." 
This  closing  admonition  was  sacredly  observed  by  these 
"little  children,"  while  they  kept  their  adoring  eyes  on 
John's  last  vision  of  "the  Lamb  in  the  midst  of  the 
throne,"  and  continued  to  admonish  one  another  "in 
psalms,  and  hj'mns,  and  spiritual  songs  "  about  the  incar- 
nate Saviour,  their  reigning  Lord.  One  of  their  strains  is 
so  like  John,  and  so  befitting  his  "little  children  "  in  its 
pure  simplicity,  its  joyful  earnestness,  and  reverent  friend- 
ship with  a  present  Saviour,  that  it  must  ever  have  a  charm 
for  all  who  have  spiritual  sympathy  with  the  apostle  of 
"  perfect  love."  It  loses  much,  of  course,  by  translation 
into  English  rhyme,  but  in  that  form  it  is  most  likely  to 
touch  the  present  generation  : — 

We  adore  Thy  pure  image, 

0  good  Lord,  imploring  Thee ! 
Pardon  all  our  sins  and  failures, 

Christ,  our  gracious  Deity. 
Thou  didst  come  in  Thy  good-will, 

Taking  flesh  with  all  its  woe, 
Thy  own  creatures  to  redeem 

From  the  bondage  of  the  foe. 
Therefore  cry  we  thankfully, 

Fulness  of  delight,  to  Thee, 
Our  Saviour,  once  appearing, 

Purging  earth's  iniquity. 


34  HTMx-vsrrEKS  A^'D  xiizni  htm^js. 

Some  of  tlie  hymns  of  early  dawn  mnst  have  mingled 
irith  the  joy  of  angels  over  penitent  hearts.  Human 
nature  "was  sinfiJ  then  as  it  is  now.  The  contrite  heart 
and  broken  spirit  had  its  psalm  then  as  it  ever  will. 
Apostle  churches  were  never  lacking  in — 

The  grodlv  grief,  the  pleasing  smart. 

The  meltings  of  a  bruken  heart ; 

The  tear  that  tells  the  son  "s  forgiren. 

The  sighs  that  waft  the  soul  to  heaven. 

The  guiltless  shame,  the  sweet  distress, 

The  unutterable  tenderness. 

The  genuine  meek  humility. 

The  wonder,  '■  why  such  love  to  me  I"' 

One  of  these  plaintive  psalms  of  primitive  repentance 
seems  to  sob  and  moan  with  gentle  sorrow,  and  to  palpi- 
tate with  mystic  penitential  joy  and  tender  longings  lor 
Christ : — 

Long-suffring  Jesus,  precious  Jesus  ! 

HeaL  oh,  heal  my  wounded  soul ! 
Oh.  sweeten  Thou  my  heart,  my  Jestis  I 
Save.  I  pray  Thee,  make  me  whole  I 
That  saved  by  Thee,  my  Saviour,  I 
May  Thy  great  mercy  magnify. 

Lover  of  man,  oh.  hear  me.  Saviour ! 

Thine  afflicted  servant  cries  : 
Oh.  deliver  me  from  judgment ; 
Bid  the  sentenced  culprit  rise ! 

Thou  merciful,  long-suffering  Son, 
Oh.  most  sweet  Jesus,  only  One ! 

Do  let  Thy  servant  come,  my  Saviour ! 
Sinking  'fore  Thee  now  with  tears  ; 
Save  me.  Jesus  I  me  repenting  I 
Save  from  hell,  and  helliih  fears  I 
O  Master ;  my  deep  wounds  I  feel  I 
Kow  heal  me '.  blessed  Saviour,  heal ! 

With  Thy  strong  hand,  my  Saviour,  rescue 

From  that  Spirit-murd'rer  fell ; 
In  compassion  snatch  from  Satan ; 
Though  I've  sinn'd  and  merit  hell : 
MercifuL  lonff-suff''ring  One,  I  flee 
To  Thy  def  enc«  I  to  Thee  I  to  Thee ! 

Oh,  meeten  me  to  Thy  blest  kingdom, 

Jesus,  be  my  inward  light  I 
To  my  lost  soul  Thou  art  salvation ; 
From  hell  redeeming  by  Thy  might. 
Here,  weeping  like  a  helpless  child. 
Save  me.  O  Christ  I  0  Jesus  mild '. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MORNING.         35 

Sucli  meltings,  bemoanings,  struggles  of  tlaought, 
regrets,  half-plaintive,  lialf-joyful,  now  desponding,  and 
now  hopeful  appeals,  are  felt  to  be  his  own  by  every 
prodigal  sinner  in  every  age,  and  all  the  world  over.  Re- 
pentance never  changes  its  character.  Its  language,  though- 
varied  in  metre,  is  essentially  one.  The  old  eastern  jDeni- 
tential  psalm  falls  naturally  from  the  lips  of  a  penitent 
transgressor  in  our  modern  western  world,  and  any  genuine 
living  hymn  from  a  truly  softened  English  heart,  aiipealing 
to  its  Saviour,  would  be  chanted  amidst  tears  by  penitent 
worshippers  in  an  Eastern  basilica.  A  good  man  from  the 
far  West,  not  many  years  ago,  during  his  pilgrimage  in 
the  East,  found  his  way  into  an  Armenian  church  at  Con- 
stantinople. The  people  were  singing.  The  language  of 
their  hymn  was  foreign  ;  but  it  was  evident  that  the  singers 
were  in  earnest,  and  that  there  was  deep  feeling  in  the 
words  of  their  song.  The  music  was  a  simple  melody.  All 
sang  with  closed  eyes,  but  as  the  strain  continued,  tears 
ware  starting,  and  trickling  down  many,  many  a  cheek. 
Dr.  Pomeroy  would  fain  have  joined  in  the  plaintive, 
tender,  yet  glowing  hymn.  "What  were  they  singing  ?  The 
stanzas  were  translated,  and  as  they  fell  on  his  ear,  his 
heart  resjjonded  to  the  precious,  well-known  verses — 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  ; 

Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 

From  Thy  wounded  side  which  flowed, 

Be  of  sin  the  double  cure. 

Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labours  of  my  hands 
Can  ftilfil  Thy  law's  demands, 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  tears  for  ever  flow, 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone  ; 
Thou  must  save,  and  Thou  alone. 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling ; 
Naked,  come  to  Thee  for  dress ; 
Helpless,  look  to  Thee  for  grace  ; 
Foul,  I  to  the  Fountain  fly  : 
Wash  me,  Saviour,  or  I  die ! 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  my  eye-strings  break  in  death, 


36  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

When  I  soar  through  tracts  unknown, 
See  Thee  on  Thy  judgment-throne  : 
Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  ! 

Who    would    not    like    to    have    heard    and    seen    the 
author    of    this    hymn  ?       He   might   have   been    found 
once  in  a   sequestered   village   in  the    eastern  corner   of 
Devon.        There,    amidst   the   beautiful   hills   which  are 
overlooked  by    the   western   slopes   of  the  Black   Down 
range,  the  quiet  parish  church  of  Broad  Hembury  stands 
silently  inviting  the  folks  of  the  hamlet  to  "  seek  the  living 
among  the   dead."     Within  those  walls  on  any  Sunday 
about  the  year   1770  the  vicar  might  be  found,   during 
church  hours,  fervently  leading  the  devotions  of  his  flock, 
and  then  dispensing  saving  truth  from  the  pxdpit  in  a  style 
and  spirit  not  to  be  enjoyed  everywhere,  especially  in  those 
times.      The  preacher  is  descril)ed  as  having  an  "  ethereal 
countenance,   and  light,   immortal  form.      His  voice  was 
music.     His  vivacity  would  have  caught  the  listener's  eye, 
and  his  soul-filled  looks  and  movements  would  have  inter- 
preted his  language,  had  there  not  been  such  commanding 
solemnity  in  his  tones  as  made  apathy  impossible,  and  such 
simplicity  in  his  words  that  to  hear  was  to  understand. 
From  easy  explanations  he  advanced  to  rapid  and  conclu- 
sive arguments,  and  warmed  into  importunate  exhortations, 
till  conscience  began  to  burn  and  feelings  to  take  fire  from 
his  own  kindled  spirit,  and  himself  and  his  hearers  were 
together  drowned  in  sympathetic  tears."     The  preacher 
was  Augustus   Montague   TojDlady.     He  was  the  son  of 
Major  Toplady,  who  died  at  the  siege  of  Carthagina  in 
1740,  leaving  his  infant  Augustus  to  the  care  of  a  tender 
but  judicious  mother,  under  whose  oversight  the  gentle  and 
affectionate  character  of  the  future  hymnist  was  happily 
developed  and  matured.      He  owed  much  to  his  mother  ; 
and  his  heart  was  always  ready  for  returns  of  filial  love 
and  duty.     The  genuine  and  decided  nature  of  his  conver- 
sion, however,  was   the  deeper  secret  of  his   distinctive 
character  as  a  divine,  a  preacher,  and  a  hymnist.    "When 
he  was  but  sixteen,  during  a  visit  to  Ireland  with  his 
mother,  he  found  his  way  into  a  barn  at  Codymain,"  where 
an  uncultivated  but  warm-hearted  layman  was  preaching 
from  Eph.  ii.  13.     The  human  instrument  was  unpolished, 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MOENING.  37 

but  tlie  divine  word  was  effectual ;  and  looking  back,  after 
some  years,  on  the  happy  change  which  passed  over  his 
heart  during  that  hour  in  the  barn,  and  speaking  of  the 
gracious  sentence  which  so  deeply  touched  him,  he  says, 
"It  was  from  that  passage  that  Mr.  Morris  preached  on 
the  memorable  evening  of  my  effectual  call  by  the  grace  of 
God.  Under  the  ministry  of  that  dear  messenger,  and 
under  that  sermon,  I  was,  I  trust,  '  brought  nigh  by  the 
blood  of  Christ,'  in  August,  1756.  Strange  that  I,  who 
had  so  long  sat  under  the  means  of  grace  in  England, 
should  be  brought  nigh  unto  Grod  in  an  obscure  part  of 
Ireland,  amidst  a  handful  of  God's  people  met  together  in 
a  barn,  and  under  the  ministry  of  one  who  could  hardly 
spell  his  name.  Surely  it  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  is 
marvellous.  The  excellency  of  such  power  must  be  of 
God,  and  cannot  be  of  man." 

He  was  ordained  in  June,  1762.  The  circumstances 
and  mode  of  his  conversion  seem  to  have  disposed  him  to  a 
strong  and  ruling  conviction  of  the  Calvinistic  sense  of  the 
articles  to  which  he  subscribed,  and  to  which,  as  he  said, 
he  subscribed  because  he  believed  them.  He  entered  on 
his  rural  charge  at  Broad  Hembury  in  1768.  And  there 
his  finely- tempered  soul  regaled  itself  now  and  then  amidst 
the  delicious  retreats  on  the  banks  of  the  Otter  stream,  by 
celebrating  the  grace  of  his  Eedeemer  in  the  immortal 
hymns  and  sjDiritaal  songs  from  which  so  many  penitent 
and  believing  heai-ts  continue  to  gather  saving  balm. 
Strange  that  harsh  and  bitter  words  should  have  been 
uttered  in  controversy  with  such  kindred  hymnists  as  Wes- 
ley and  Olivers  !  When  these  poetic  spirits  sang,  they 
were  in  perfect  harmony ;  but  when  they  dogmatized,  there 
was  intemperate  discord.  Toplady's  strong  conviction  and 
warm  zeal  for  those  dogmas  whose  exclusive  claims  he 
thought  to  be  demonstrated  by  his  own  conversion,  some- 
times mastered  his  native  gentleness  and  Christian  feeling, 
and  led  him  astra}^  into  a  false  position.  His  example 
cautions  the  lover  of  truth  against  allowing  himself  to  be 
provoked  into  controversy.  Better  let  the  truth  work  its 
own  way.  His  polemic  essays  may  repose  on  the  theologi- 
cal shelf,  but  his  hymns  will  for  ever  wreathe  his  name 
with  holy  light  in  the  memory  and  heart  of  the  Christian 
Church. 


38  HYMN -"WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

HoTV  beautiful  Avas  the  closing  scene  of  his  life  ;  "  Sick- 
ness is  no  affliction,"  said  the  saintly  pilgrim,  "  pain  no 
curse,  death  itself  no  dissolution."  To  one  who  inquired 
"whether  his  consolations  always  abounded,  it  was  replied, 
"  I  cannot  say  there  are  no  intermissions  ;  for  if  there  were 
not,  my  consolations  would  be  more  and  greater  than  I 
could  possibly  bear ;  but  when  they  abate  they  leave  such 
an  abiding  sense  of  God's  goodness,  and  of  the  certainty  of 
my  being  fixed  upon  the  eternal  rock  Christ  Jesus,  that  my 
soul  is  still  filled  with  peace  and  joy."  Happy  hymnist ! 
He  now  realized  the  full  meaning  of  his  own 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 

Like  many  others,  he  had  mistaken  Wesley  on  one  point, 
and,  with  strange  perversity  of  error,  condemned  him  for 
teaching  the  doctrine  of  "  absolute  perfection,"  as  the 
Christian's  privilege.  It  was  in  his  zeal  against  this 
illusion  that  he  entitled  his  "  Eock  of  Ages,"  "A  living 
and  dying  prayer  for  the  holiest  believer  in  the  world." 
But  AVetley  was  as  innocent  of  this  alleged  heresy  as  was 
Toplady  himself;  and  no  believer  in  the  world  would 
sing  Toplady's  hymnic  prayer  with  more  reverent  feeling 
than  John  Wesley.  Indeed,  the  last  utterances  of  the  two 
men  were  graciously  akin.  Wesley  breathed  the  spirit  of 
Toplady's  hymn  when  in  dej)artiug  he  sang — 

I  the  chief  of  sinners  am, 
But  Jesus  died  for  me. 

Blessed  spirits  !     They  have  met  in  clearer  light,  and  now 
see  "  eye  to  eye." 

Hallowed  genius  continues  to  consecrate  itself  to  that 
holy  "  name  whereby  we  must  be  saved."  Nor  does  it  fail 
to  furnish  the  succession  of  believing  penitents  with 
happy,  suitable  forms  of  tuneful  expression  in  their 
appeals  to  Jesus.  What  the  old  Greek  hymnists  did  for 
those  who  were  coming  to  Christ  in  their  day,  and  what 
Toplady  did  for  later  generations,  both  in  east  and  west, 
has  been  done  for  the  hearts  that  the  Lord  opens  by  still 
later  voices  of  equal  sweetness  and  power.  Some  of  these 
are  the  voices  of  "  devout  women."  A  woman  took  the 
lead  in  holy  song  at  the  dawning  of  the  "latter  day." 
Women  were  most  ready  to  weep  with  Him  who  wept  for 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MORNING.  39 

US,  and  to  rejoice  in  His  joy.  The  voices  of  women  swelled 
tlie  joy  of  the  resurrection,  mingled  in  the  strains  which 
cheered  the  simple  tables  around  which  the  first  disciples 
"  ate  their  meat  with  gladness,"  and  filled  up  the  har- 
m.onies  of  those  gatherings  whose  cheerful  worship  and 
happy  expression  gave  them  "  favour  with  all  the  jieople." 
Many  of  the  hymns  preserved  to  us  from  the  Syrian  and 
Greek  hymnists  were,  doubtless,  from  the  hearts  and  pens 
of  sons  of  holy  mothers  ;  or,  it  may  be,  some  of  the  simple 
rhythmical  celebrations  of  the  birth  and  glory  of  the 
"Child  Jesus"  were  utterances  of  widow-confessors,  or 
mothers  of  consecrated  "little  ones."  No  name,  however, 
has  come  down  to  us.  No  fragment  can  be  verified  as 
a  woman's  hymn.  It  has  remained  for  more  modern 
days  to  hear  songs  from  "  devout  women  "  which  equal  the 
tenderest  and  most  happy  of  all  tender  and  happy  melodies 
adapted  to  the  softened  hearts  which  long  for  a  Saviour. 
One  of  these  comes  from  Devon,  from  its  southern  coast. 
If  anybody  wishes  to  enjoy,  within  the  limits  of  a  few 
days'  ramble,  one  of  the  richest  interminglings  of  balmy 
air  and  bright  blue  sea,  of  hill  and  dale,  copsy  knoll  and 
ferny  hollow,  villa-crowned  heights  and  cottages  in  dells, 
noble  cliffs  and  terraced  gardens,  mountain-paths  and  quiet 
sparkling  beaches,  weedy  rocks  and  whispering  caverns, 
ever-varying,  ever-harmonizing  scenes,  amidstwhich,  above, 
beneath,  around,  and  everywhere,  grandeur  is  melting  into 
beauty — he  must  be  a  quiet  sojourner  for  a  little  while  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Torquay.  Of  those  who  seek  and 
find  enjoyment  in  that  delicious  retreat,  one  lady  has 
happily  brightened  the  scenes  already  briglit  by  the  charm 
of  a  pious  example,  the  quiet  but  diligent  difi'usion  of  truth, 
and  the  gracious  exercise  of  her  Christian  charity.  A  lover 
of  nature,  a  lover  of  souls,  a  lover  of  Christ,  her  talents  and 
zeal  have  shed  tlieir  best  and  most  lasting  blessing  on  the 
Christian  world  by  the  issue  of  those  hymns  which  promise 
ever  to  reflect  blessing  on  her  name.  Thousands  who  never 
saw  Torquay,  thousands  who  merely  know  the  name  of 
Charlotte  Elliott,  will  find  themselves  nearer  to  the  blessed 
Jesus  while  they  sing  her  justly  jDopular  hymn — 

Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea 
But  that  Thy  blocid  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  Thou  bidst  me  come  to  Thee, 
0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 


40  HYMN-WEITER3  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting-  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot, 
To  Thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

Just  as  I  am,  though  toss'd  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt. 
Fightings  and  fears  within,  without, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come! 

Just  as  I  am.  poor,  wretched,  blind, 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind, 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  Thee  I  find, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

Just  as  I  am.  Thou  wilt  receive, 

Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relicTe  ! 

Because  Thy  promise  I  believe, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am  (thy  love  unknown 
Has  broken  every  ban-icr  down), 
Now  to  be  Thine,  yea,  Thine  alone, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

Just  as  I  am,  of  that  free  love 

The  breadth,  length,  depth,  and  height  to  prove, 

Here  for  a  season,  then  above, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

This  sounds  like  repeated  and  still  repeated  echoes  of 
some  sweet  music  ;  and  indeed  the  verses  may  be  listened 
to  as  if  they  were  the  echoes  of  the  coast-hills  of  Devon 
answering  to  the  voice  of  spiritual  songs  which  a  century 
before  arose  from  a  quiet  garden  on  the  borders  of  the 
Hampshire  downs.  That,  too,  was  a  woman's  voice  ;  and 
that  voice,  too,  was  the  voice  of  tender,  melting  desire  for 
the  Saviour — the  voice  of  a  penitent  believer  answering  to 
the  Divine  call,  "  Come  unto  Me,  and  I  will  give  jou  rest." 
It  was  the  voice  of  one  chosen  "in  the  furnace  of  afflic- 
tion ;  "  but  the  tones  were  sweet  and  clear,  with  that  gentle 
ring  which  thrills  the  devotional  heart  as  if  something  of 
pure  heavenliness  had  touched  it.  So  where  it  was  when 
this  song  was  uttered — 

Thou  lovely  Source  of  true  delight, 

Whom  I  unseen  adore. 
Unveil  Thy  beauties  to  my  sight, 

That  I  may  love  Thee  more. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAY  MORNING.  41 

Thy  glory  o'er  creation  shines, 

But  in  Thy  sacred  word 
I  read,  in  fairer,  brighter  lines, 

My  bleeding,  dying  Lord. 

'Tis  here,  whene'er  my  comforts  droop, 

And  sins  and  sorrows  rise. 
Thy  love,  with  cheerful  beams  of  hope, 

My  fainting  heart  supplies. 

But  ah,  too  soon  the  pleasing  scene 

Is  clouded  o'er  with  pain  ; 
My  gloomy  fears  rise  dark  between, 

And  I  again  complain. 

Jesus,  my  Lord,  my  life,  my  light, 

Oh  come  with  blissfid  ray, 
Break  radiant  through  the  shades  of  night. 

And  chase  my  fears  away. 

Then  shall  my  soul  with  rapture  trace 

The  wonders  of  Thy  love  ; 
But  the  full  g'lories  of  Thy  face 

Are  only  known  above. 

This  hymn,  with  many  othei's,  had  a  deep  interest  in 
the  heart  of  a  venerable  Nonconformist  minister,  who,  in 
1757,  had  the  pastoral  charge  of  a  congregation,  meeting 
in  the  village  of  Broughton  in  Hampshire,  on  the  spot 
where  their  fathers  had  worshipped  from  the  time  of  the 
Commonwealth.  The  good  pastor  writes  in  his  diary: — 
"  1757,  Nov.  29.  This  day  Nanny  sent  a  part  of  her  com- 
jjosition  to  London  to  be  printed.  I  entreat  a  gracious 
Grod,  who  enabled  and  stirred  her  np  to  snch  a  work,  to 
direct  in  it,  and  bless  it  for  the  good  and  comfort  of  many." 
And  again:  —  "  Oct.  1759.  Her  brother  brought  with  him 
her  poetry,  not  yet  bound.  I  earnestly  desire  the  blessing 
of  God  upon  that  work,  that  it  may  be  made  very  useful. 
I  can  admire  the  gifts  that  others  are  blessed  with,  and 
praise  God  for  His  distinguishing  favours  to  our  family.  I 
have  now  been  reading  our  daughter's  printed  books, 
which  I  have  earnestly  desired  might  be  accompanied  with 
the  Divine  Spirit  in  the  perusing."  And  yet  again: — 
"  Nov.  27.  Mr.  W spoke  very  liighly  in  commenda- 
tion of  her  book.  I  pray  God  to  make  it  useful,  and  keep 
her  humble."  Which  is  most  beautiful  in  all  this,  the 
simple  naturalness  of  the  father's  feeling,  or  the  devout 


42  HYilX-WEITEUS  AND  THEIE,  HYMNS. 

spirit  of  the  Christian  parent?  The  good  man's  prayers 
were  richly  answered  in  his  daughter's  character  and  life, 
and  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  read  her  pious,  pure,  and 
finely-toned  hymns.  One  song  alone  of  hers  forbids  a 
doubt  of  this— 

Jesus,  my  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  name  unite, 

All  tilings  my  heart  calls  great,  or  good,  or  sweet ; 

Divinest  springs  of  wonder  and  delight, 

In  Thee,  Thou  fairest  of  ten  thousand,  meet. 

Do  I  not  love  Thee  ?  ah,  my  conscioiis  heart 

Nor  boldly  dares  affirm,  nor  can  deny ; 
Oh,  bid  these  clouds  of  gloomy  fear  depart. 

With  one  bright  ray  from  Thy  propitious  eye ! 

Do  I  not  love  Thee  ?  can  I  then  allow 

Within  my  breast  pretenders  to  Thy  throne  ? 

Oh,  take  my  homag-e,  at  Thy  feet  I  bow '. 
No  other  Lord  my  heart  desires  to  own. 

Take,  take  my  passions  in  Thy  sovereign  hand. 
Refine  and  mould  them  with  Almighty  skill ; 
Then  shall  I  love  the  voice  of  Thy  command, 
•  And  all  my  powers  rejoice  to  do  Thy  will. 

Thy  love  inspires  the  a^jtive  sons  of  light. 

With  swift-wing'd  zeal  they  wait  upon  Thy  word  ; 

Oh,  let  that  love,  in  these  abodes  of  night. 
Bid  my  heart  glow  to  serve  my  dearest  Lord. 

Come,  love  Divine,  my  languid  wishes  raise  ! 

With  heavenly  zeal  this  faint  cold  heart  inflame, 
To  join  with  angels  in  my  Saviour's  praise. 

Like  them  obey  His  will,  adore  His  name. 

But  can  the  mind,  with  heavy  clay  opprest, 

To  emulate  seraphic  ardour  rise  ? 
While  sin  pollutes  her  joys,  forbids  her  rest. 

How  can  she  join  the  worship  of  the  skies  ? 

Yet  He  commands  to  love  and  to  obey, 

Whose  hand  sustains  those  happy  spirits  there  ; 

In  Him,'"my  soul,  who  is  thy  Guide,  thy  Stay, 
In  Him  confide,  to  Him  commit  thy  care. 

Jesus,  my  Lord,  oh  give  me  strength  divine ! 

Then  shall  my  powers  in  glad  obedience  move ; 
Receive  the  heart  that  wishes  to  be  Thine, 

And  teach,  oh  teach  me  to  obey  and  love ! 


HYMNS  OF  THE  LATTEE  DAY  MORNING.  43 

This  is  one  of  the  hymns  from  the  volume  on  which  the 
fond  father  invoked  a  blessing — a  volume  of  hymns  and 
poems  by  "Theodosia."  And  who  and  what  Theodosia 
was  is  happily  revealed  in  one  of  her  letters  to  her  "  hon- 
oured father:" — "As  many  of  these  verses  have  been 
favoured  with  your  approbation,  I  have  now  at  your  desire 
collected  them  into  a  little  book,  which  I  beg  leave  to 
present  to  you  as  a  humble  acknowledgment  of  my  grate- 
ful sense  of  your  parental  affection,  and  the  benefit  1  have 
received  from  your  instructions.  If  you  should  survive  me, 
it  will,  I  doubt  not,  be  preserved  by  joii  (however  incon- 
siderable its  real  value)  as  a  mournfully  pleasing  remem- 
brance  of  a  departed  child  who  once  shared  your  tender 
regard.  If  you  think  they  are  capable  of  affording  pleasure 
or  profit,  you  may,  if  you  please,  communicate  any  of  them 
to  friends  or  fellow-Christians.  They  may,  j)erhaps,  find 
seasons  when  the  thoughts  of  the  unworthy  writer  may 
suit  their  own,  and  the  resemblance  produce  delight.  If 
while  I  am  sleeping  in  the  silent  grave  my  thoughts  are  of 
any  real  benefit  to  the  meanest  of  the  servants  of  my  God, 
be  the  praise  ascribed  to  the  Almighty  Griver  of  all  grace. 
May  the  blessed  hope  of  eternal  life  cheer  my  soul  amidst 
the  pangs  of  dissolution  !  May  the  blissfvd  smiles  of  my 
Redeemer  illuminate  the  gloomy  shades  of  death,  and 
point  out  my  passage  to  the  mansions  of  eternal  day;  that 
I  may  be  able  to  say,  in  the  full  evidence  of  faith  and 
hope,  I  am  going  to  'be  ever  with  the  Lord.'  Then  shall 
my  God  be  gloiified,  and  my  dear  relatives  comforted  in 
my  death.  May  the  Almighty  long  preserve  your  valuable 
life,  and  continue  to  make  you  a  blessing  to  your  family,  a 
useful  instructor  to  the  people  under  your  care,  and  an 
ornament  to  religion,  is  the  ardent  wish  and  prayer  of, 
dear  and  honoured  father,  your  ever  dutiful  and  grateful 
daughter,  "  Anne  Steele." 


CHAPTEE  ly. 

EYMNS  OF  TEE  FATHERS. 

"Our  holy  and  beautiful  house,  where  our  fathers  praised  Thee." 

Who,  in  his  dreams  of  tlie  past,  has  not  sometimes  found 
himself  floating  across  the  Mediterranean  down  to  ancient 
Egypt,  and  there  moving,  as  none  but  spirits  can  move, 
along  the  face  of  those  venerable  and  mysterious  deposits 
of  the  Delta  over  which  Egyptian,  Ethiopian,  Assvrian, 
Persian,  Roman,  and  Saracen,  in  successive  generations, 
have  passed  before  him  ?  and  whose  imagination  has  not 
wandered  up  the  Nile  in  quiet  visionary  fashion,  now 
under  the  shadow  of  African  palms,  and  now  through  lily 
banks  b}^  the  side  of  gliding  pelicans,  and  within  sight  of 
the  giraffe  and  the  gazelle  freely  rambling  on  the  desert 
sands  ?  Who  has  not  in  his  dreams  looked  at  the  calcare- 
ous cliffs  from  which  the  generations  of  the  Old  World  dug 
their  lime  ?  or  at  the  sandstone  quarries  which  supplied 
slabs  and  blocks  for  the  temjDles  that  had  fallen  into  ruin 
long  before  England  began  her  course?  or  at  the  awful  gran- 
ite jiiles  from  whence  came  the  materials  for  those  gigantic 
sculptures  which  still  overawe  mankind  ?  or  at  the  wilder- 
ness of  ruins  and  sepulchres  which,  with  their  myriads  of 
mummy  forms,  give  to  our  hearts  such  lessons  on  human 
life  ?  Who  has  not  wandered  there  thinking  of  Abraham 
and  Sarah,  Jose])h  and  his  brethren,  Jacob  worshipping  on 
his  staff,  his  embalmment,  and  his  funeral ;  and  then  of 
another  Joseph  and  Marj^,  and  the  Holy  Child ;  and  then 
of  the  first  Christian  disciples,  and  their  first  flight  to  the 
desert  ?  Our  dreamy  flights  have  sometimes  led  us  from 
Egypt  across  the  Eed  Sea  to  the  base  of  Mount  Colzim, 


HYMNS  OP  THE  FATHERS.  45 

just  wliere  its  bend  looks  out  through  the  desert  pass  of 
Mount  Kallil  towards  the  plain  of  Baccarah,  there  to  look 
at  a  few  palms,  sustained  by  three  brackish  springs,  with 
a  little  garden  of  potherbs,  onions,  and  dourah  ;  and  to  find 
a  human  form  seated  at  the  entrance  of  a  recess,  dressed  in 
wash-leather,  with  a  sallow  face  expressive  of  quiet  earneEt- 
ness  and  high  purpose,  the  lustrous  depth  of  his  upturned 
eye  revealing  the  joy  of  his  communion  with  heaven ;  the 
man  who  might  be  called  the  father  of  that  recluse  life 
which,  though  springing  from  perverted  Christian  principle, 
yet  for  so  many  ages  swayed  the  movements  of  the  Christian 
world,  and  gave  out  the  precious  streams  of  hymns  and 
songs  which  helped  to  preserve  the  spiritual  life  of  a  clois- 
tered church.  Then,  have  there  not  been  visions  of  old 
Alexandria?  visions  which,  like  dissolving  views,  have 
changed  from  brilliant  palaces  to  libraries  and  lecture-halls, 
from  close  retired  streets  to  old  basilicas,  from  students' 
cells  to  crowded  places  filled  with  multitudes  struggling 
and  heaving  amidst  the  processes  of  transition  from  old 
heathenism  to  a  half-formed  Christianity;  and  then  our 
visionary  path  has  been  crossed  by  the  shadows  of  such 
men  as  Clement,  and  Origen,  and  Didyraus,  and  their 
trains  of  disciples  who  peopled  the  first  Christian  schools 
of  Alexandria.  One  would  like  to  arrest  the  shade  of 
Clement,  and  ask  him  to  give  us  a  few  more  hymns,  or  to 
sing  to  us  some  of  the  fragments  that  we  have  caught  up 
from  the  ruins  of  his  music-school,  and  to  sing  them  as  he 
and  his  scholars  used  to  sing  them  both  at  home  and  in 
the  church.  It  is  difficult  to  catch  even  a  dreamy  outline 
of  Clement's  person  and  life;  he  has  left  a  few  touches  of 
his  own  character.  At  the  end  of  the  second  century, 
Alexandria  was  like  a  great  centre  of  telegraphic  com- 
munication, mysteriously  linking  itself  with  all  the  out- 
standing points  in  the  world  of  thought.  In  and  around 
that  centre  many  were  running  to  and  fro  asking  and 
answering  questions,  and  voices  from  all  nations  were 
mingling  in  deep-toned  inquiries  after  the  sujireme  good. 
There,  in  the  midst,  was  Clement,  anxiously  looking  hither 
and  thither,  always  intensely  hungering  and  thirsting  after 
truth.  Now,  he  took  lessons  from  the  retreats  of  Lebanon, 
now  from  Assyria,  and  now  from  the  Hebrew  school  of 
Tiberias.     It  was  a  weary  search  ;  but  perfect  sincerity  is 


46  HYMN-WMTEHS  AND  THEIE  HYMNS. 

always  honoured  from  above,  and  is  sure  of  its  goal.  His 
heart  foiind  rest  at  last ;  where  his  heart  rested,  there  the 
wants  of  his  intellect  were  supplied.  He  says  enough 
about  himself  and  Christianity  to  prove  that  he  had  found 
the  secret  of  Christian  life,  and  that  he  had  been  "trans- 
formed by  the  renewing  of  his  mind."  Still,  his  long  in 
and  out  and  round-about  search  for  truth,  and  the  hard 
processes  through  which  his  mind  and  heart  had  passed 
in  the  course  of  his  religious  pursuit,  gave  a  peculiar 
shaping  to  his  mental  and  spiritual  character  as  a  Christian. 
Some  of  his  peculiar  views,  his  views  of  Christian  perfec- 
tion, caught  the  attention  of  "Wesley,  who,  stigmatized  as 
a  perfectionist  himself,  though  coming  very  much  nearer 
to  the  truth  than  the  Alexandrian  father,  has  ingeniously 
given  a  versified  exposition  of  Clement's  mistaken  notion, 
and  has  embodied  it  in  his  collection  of  hymns  and  sacred 
poems.  It  seems  fitting  that  one  of  the  earliest  hymnists 
among  the  Fathers  should  have  his  distinctive  views  thrown 
into  a  hymnic  form  by  a  modern  Father  of  spiritual  hymns 
and  songs.  Wesley  sings  "on  Clement  Alexandrinus's 
descrij)tion  of  a  perfect  Christian:  " — 

Here  from  afar  the  finish' d  height 

Of  holiness  is  seen ; 
But  oh  what  heavy  tracts  of  toil, 

What  deserts  lie  between ! 

Man  for  the  simple  life  divine 

What  will  it  cost  to  break, 
Ere  pleasure  soft  and  wily  pride 

No  more  within  him  speak  ? 

What  ling'ring  anguish  must  corrode 

The  root  of  nature's  joy  ? 
Wliat  secret  shame  and  dire  defeats 

The  pride  of  heart  destroy  ? 

Learn  thou  the  whole  of  mortal  state 

In  stillness  to  sustain ; 
Nor  soothe  with  false  delights  of  earth, 

Whom  God  hath  doomed  to  pain. 

Thy  mind  no  multitude  of  thoughts, 

Nor  stupor  shall  distress  ; 
The  venom  of  each  latent  vice 

Wild  images  impress. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  i  i 

Yet  darkly  safe  with  God  thy  soul 

His  arm  still  onward  bears, 
Till  through  each  tempest  on  her  face 

A  peace  beneath  appears. 

'Tis  in  that  peace  we  see  and  act 

By  instincts  from  above, 
With  finer  taste  of  wisdom  fraught, 

And  mystic  powers  of  love. 

Yet  ask  not  in  mere  ease  and  pomp 

Of  ghostly  gifts  to  shine. 
Till  death,  the  lownesses  of  man, 

And  pitying  griefs  are  thine. 

As  an  exposition  of  Clement's  doctrine  of  Christian 
perfection,  this  is  sufficiently  clear  to  guard  those  whose 
service  of  song  the  author  intended  to  regulate  ;  Avhile  it  is 
aptly  made  to  fall  off  into  that  kind  of  haziness  which  in- 
dicates the  uncertain  theology  of  the  Alexandrine  Father. 
But  whatsoever  peculiar  turn  of  thought  Clement's  mind 
might  take  on  some  theological  points,  Christianity  had 
simplified  his  heart  and  kindled  his  poetic  powers  into 
hallowed  devotion  to  his  beloved  Redeemer.  The  artless 
child  seems  to  brighten  into  the  praiseful  seraph  in  his 
hymn  '"of  the  Saviour  Christ."  An  English  rendering, 
somewhat  in  imitation  of  the  original  metre,  may  help  us 
to  sing  with  Clement: — 

Lead,  Holy  One,  lead ! 
The  little  ones  need 
The  voice  of  their  Eang. 
The  footprints  of  Jesus 
Are  shining  before  us, 
His  children  to  lead. 
On  the  heavenly  way  their  footsteps  to  bring. 

O  Age  Infinite ! 
Original  Light ! 
Divine  Living  Word ! 
The  Fountain  of  mercy  ! 
Creator  of  beauty ! 
Sustainer  of  might 
To  all  happy  spirits ;  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord ! 

By  milk  from  above 
For  babes  of  Thy  love, 
Thy  wisdom's  sweet  store, 
Their  tender  lips  nourished, 


48  HYMN-WKITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Refreshed,  and  replenished ; 
They  sing  o'er  and  o'er 
Their  otvti  artless  hymns,  as  tow'rds  Thee  they  move. 

0  Christ  our  King, 
Together  we  sing ; 
Onr  hymns  never  cease. 
Of  rewards  from  the  Holy  ; 
To  the  child  ever  mighty. 
Our  chorus  shall  sing. 
Till  thy  kindred  see  the  God  of  all  peace. 

The  history  of  Christian  hymnology  affords  here  and 
there  an  interesting  iUustration  of  the  truth,  "Surely  the 
wrath  of  man  shall  praise  Thee."  When  the  apostate 
Julian  ascended  the  tlirone,  he  turned  his  legislation 
against  Christ,  and  prohibited  all  Christians  from  learning 
or  teaching  the  classic  literature  of  the  Gentile  world.  He 
thought  to  extinguish  Christianity  by  shutting  up  Christians 
to  barren  ignorance.  His  policy,  however,  worked  against 
his  own  purpose.  The  poetic  power  and  taste  of  Christian 
leaders  were  now  called  forth  to  supply  purer  elements  of 
education  than  the  popular  classic  poets  could  yield ;  and 
driven  from  heathen  measures.  Christians  were  supplied 
with  hymns  and  songs,  which  at  once  formed  literary 
lessons  and  means  of  chaste  excitement  for  the  heart. 
Among  several  who  took  the  lead  in  opening  these  fresh 
supplies  of  poetic  food  for  youthful  Christianity,  there  was 
one  who  had  been  a  schoolfellow  and  companion  of  Julian 
himself.  The  interior  of  Asia  Minor,  now  so  little  known, 
was  open  during  the  third  century  to  the  genial  influence 
of  the  Christian  religion.  To  us  the  richly  diversfied  land- 
scapes are  all  but  forbidden  ground  ;  but  once  the  mountain 
ranges  and  romantic  glens,  the  fruitful  plains  and  garden- 
like valleys,  the  charming  dales  and  upland  forests  of  pine 
and  beach  and  odorous  cedar,  the  perfumed  flower-beds 
broadly  sheltered  by  tlie  plane-tree,  and  the  river  banks 
adorned  with  the  verdure  of  mastic  and  tamarind  groves, 
combined  to  form  a  scene  in  which  the  Christian  Church, 
trained  some  of  her  noblest  sons.  Several  of  these  were 
the  sons  of  holy  women :  one  was  Basil  the  Great ;  and 
anotlier  was  his  schoolfellow  and  life-long  friend,  Gregory 
of  Nazianzen,  whose  father  lived  to  see  his  son  associated 
with  him  in  the  bishopric  of  his  native  township,    and 


HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHEES.  49 

wliose  saintlj'^  motlier,  Nonna,  had.  her  last  days  cheered  by 
the  hymns  and  spiritual  songs  of  the  boy  in  whose  holy 
character  and  life  she  saw  the  answer  to  her  prayers.  Basil's 
letters  to  his  friend,  from  his  own  religions  retreat,  throw 
some  light  upon  Gregory's  character  as  a  Christian  poet ; 
and  from  one  to  whose  love  for  nature  and  fine  taste  the 
cultivated  Basil  could  make  such  affectionate  and  charming 
appeals,  we  might  expect  such  hymnic  contributions  as 
even  now  assist  our  service  of  song.  Gregory  might  be 
said  to  have  spent  his  useful  life — 

'Twixt  the  mount  and  multitude ; 
Doing  or  receiving  good. 

With  the  multitude  he  sang  of  Christ;  and  he  instructed 
his  flock  in  their  creed,  while  he  taught  them  to  sing — 

Hear  tis  now,  0  King  eternal ; 
Give  us  power  to  hymn  Thy  praise  ; 
Thou,  our  Lord ;  and  Thou  our  Master ; 
By  Thee  alone  our  songs  we  raise. 
By  Thee  the  choirs  of  angels  glow ; 
By  Thee  the  ceaseless  ages  flow. 
By  Thee  the  sun  appears  in  glory ; 
The  moon  in  brightness  keejDS  her  pace ; 
Stars  shine  forth  in  smiling  beauty ! 
And  reason  marks  the  human  race. 
Man  breathed  that  light  from  Th?o  alone, 
That  all  Thy  other  works  outslioi:e. 
Thou  art  of  all  things  the  Creatoi' ; 
Life  springs  where'er  Thy  voice  is  heard ; 
All  is  ordered  by  Thy  wisdom ; 
All  is  finished  by  Thy  word  ; 
Thy  Holy  Word,  Thy  only  Son 
With  Thee  in  might  and  glory  one. 
As  Lord  of  all  we  Him  confess ; 
With  Him  the  Holy  Ghost  we  bless ; 
Pervading  and  inspiring  all, 
O  Triune  God ;  on  Thee  we  call ! 

But  the  junior  bishop  had  to  psalm  it  in  "troublous 
times."  He  was  sometimes  touched  by  circumstances  so 
like  those  of  ancient  psalmists,  that  his  feelings  seemed  to 
be  reflections  of  theirs;  and  his  metrical  expression  is 
sweetly  attuned  to  their  measures.  Things  around  him, 
both  in  Church  and  State,  were  heaving  and  breaking  up, 
threatening  indeed  a  return  of  chaotic  confusion.     "Men's 


50  HTMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

hearts  were  failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  looking  after  those 
things  Trt'hich  were  coming  on  the  earth" — Ecclesiastical 
tremor,  social  corruption,  storms  from  "high  places,"  and 
faithlessness  among  the  masses,  all  pressed  hardly  upon  the 
spirits  of  Gregory.  His  heart  was  overwhelmed  at  times, 
and  like  another  sweet  singer,  he  was  ready  to  cry,  "  Oh, 
that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove !  for  then  would  I  fly  away, 
and  be  at  rest.  Lo,  then  would  I  wander  far  off,  and 
remain  in  the  wilderness.  I  would  hasten  my  escape  from 
the  windy  storm  and  tempest."  One  of  his  plaintive  songs 
has  reached  us  from  his  religious  retreat — 

My  fatherland  alone  to  me  remains, 

The  floods  of  faction  o'er  my  country  sweep  ;' 
For  my  uncertain  feet,  the  laud  retains 
No  resting-place ;  no  friend  to  weep  ; 
No  child  to  soothe  the  homeless  poor  forlorn  ; 
I  wander  day  by  day  with  trembling  limbs  and  torn. 

Wliat  lot  awaits  me  ?    What  my  mortal  doom  ? 

Where  shall  this  jaded  body  find  its  rest? 
Shall  this  poor  trembling-  flesh  e'er  find  a  tomb  ? 
By  whom  shall  these  dim  eyes  in  death  be  blest  ? 
Will  any  watch  ?     WiU  any  pity  me  ? 
Will  they  be  Christian  watchers  ?  Or,  shall  sinners  see  ? 

Or  shall  no  grave  enclose  this  mortal  frame  ? 

When  laid  a  heavy  breathless  corpse  of  clay  ? 
Cast  on  the  rock  uncovered  and  in  shame; 

Or  tossed  in  scorn  to  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  ? 
Or  burnt  to  ashes,  given  to  the  air  ? 
Or  thrown  into  the  weedy  deep  to  perish  there  ? 

Thy  will  be  done,  0  Lord !     That  day  shall  spring, 

When  at  Thy  word,  this  clay  shall  reajDpear  ! 
No  death  I  dread,  but  that  which  sin  will  bring ; 
No  fire  or  flood  without  Thy  wrath  I  fear  ; 
For  Thou,  O  Christ,  my  Lord,  art  fatherland  to  me  ! 
My  wealth,  and  might,  and  rest ;  my  all  I  find  in  Thee  ! 

There  is  something  in  the  calm  light  and  devout  stillness 
of  the  evening  hour  which  touchingly  answers  to  the  solemn 
peacefulness  of  the  Christian's  last  moments  on  earth. 
This  has  been  felt  in  all  ages  by  Christian  genius.  And 
the  feeling  has  found  expression  in  a  line  of  evening 
hymns,  hymns  which  served  to  hush  the  spirits  of  God's 
children  from  generation  to  generation ;  and  from  age  to 
age  to  hallow  the  mysterious  advances  of  nightly  repose. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  51 

Gregory  is  among  the  leaders  in  evening  song ;  and  ho^r 
his  music  lulls  us — 

Christ,  my  God,  I  come  to  praise  Thee, 

As  the  day  dims  into  night ; 
Thou  who  art  from  everlasting — ■ 

Light  of  ever  living  light. 

Thou  didst  melt  orig'nal  darkness, 
Give  to  light  its  first  luifolding, 

That  all  things  might  live  in  light. 
Settling  the  unsettled  chaos 
Into  forms  of  beauteous  order, 

As  we  see  them  fair  and  bright. 

Reason's  light  to  man  Thou  gavest, 

'Bove  the  speechless  creature's  dight, 
That  on  light  in  Thy  light  grazing, 

He  himself  might  be  all  light. 

Thou  hast  deck'd  the  heavens  vsdth  radiance ; 
"With  Thy  clust'ring  lamps  of  glory, 

Hanging  the  expanse  above  ; 
Calling  day  and  night  to  service. 
Like  a  hajipy  brotherhood,  by  turns 

Obedient  to  the  law  of  love. 

Thou  by  night,  from  tears  and  toiling, 

Giv'st  our  wearied  nature  rest, 
Waking  us  as  day  arises, 

To  the  works  Thou  lovest  best. 

While  the  last  stanza  lingers  on  our  ears,  who  does  not 
think  of  Bishop  Ken?  who  is  not  ready  to  sing  that 
immortal  "even-song"  of  his,  which  for  a  century  and  a 
half  has  been  naturally  rising  to  the  lips  of  English 
Christians — 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail  ? 

How  alike  were  Bishop  Gregory  of  Nazianzen  and 
Bishop  Ken  in  some  of  the  closing  circumstances  of  their 
career !  and  how  alike  was  their  mode  of  uttering  the  quiet 
joys  of  their  life  in  retreat.  Gregory  had  mastered  the 
swellings  of  heresy,  and  had  weathered  the  storm  of 
imperial  hate  ;  but  just  as  he  saw  the  dawn  of  favour  from 
"  high  places,"  and  there  was  the  promise  of  some  reward 
for  his  faithfulness  on  earth,  unforeseen  difficulties  beset 
his  way  to  ecclesiastical  preferment ;  and  shrinking  from 
strife  for  mere  position,  he  turned  aside  from  the  public 


52  HYMN-WEITEES  AXD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

scenes  of  action,  and,  as  a  lone  man,  spent  his  last  few  years 
in  attuning  his  heart  to  the  melodies  of  heaven.  So,  good 
Bishop  Ken,  having  stood  a  faithful  witness  for  Christian 
purity  in  two  courts,  under  AVilliam  of  Orange  in  Holland, 
and  then  as  chaplain  to  Charles  II.  of  England,  securing 
in  both  cases  the  esteem  of  those  whom  he  consistently 
reproved ;  and  having  shared  imprisonment  with  his  six 
episcopal  brethren,  for  resisting  the  irregular  measures  of 
James  II.,  his  conscience  found  difficulty  in  accepting  the 
continuance  of  ecclesiastical  honour  under  William,  and  he 
retired  into  private  life,  to  solace  himself  with  hymns  and 
songs  while  waiting  for  his  divine  Master's  coming.  His 
spirit  shrank  from  the  strife  of  part3^  He  would  take  no 
part  in  the  vain  contention.  "No,  no!"  said  he,  in  his 
own  stjde, 

I  gladly  wars  ecclesiastic  fly, 
Wliere'er  contentious  spirits  I  descry ; 
Eas'd  of  my  sacred  load,  I  live  content, 
In  hymns,  not  in  disputes,  my  passions  vent. 

And  had  his  meek  and  tuneful  spirit  found  no  other  vent 
than  in  his  blessed  evening  hymn,  his  memory  would  never 
lose  its  freshness,  interwoven  as  it  is  with  the  evening 
devotion  of  so  many  English  homes.  Have  you,  as  a  lover 
of  contemplative  goodness,  ever  lingered  of  an  evening 
among  the  peaceful  homes  of  Berkhampstead,  in  Hertford- 
shu'e.  Ken's  birthplace  ?  or  did  you  ever  sit  in  the  summer 
gloaming  on  the  old  bench  in  Winchester  School,  where  he 
took  his  early  lessons,  and  try  to  call  up  the  presence  of 
the  poetic  boy  ?  or  have  you  joined  at  even  song,  in  the 
noble  old  church  at  Bath,  where  the  jiious  bishop  used 
to  compose  prayers  as  well  as  hymns  for  his  flock  ?  or  have 
you  watched  the  sunset  from  amidst  the  quiet  beauties  of 
Longleat,  in  Wiltshire,  where  the  venerable  pilgrim  closed 
his  life-journey,  saying,  "I  die  in  the  communion  of  the 
Chui'ch  of  England,  as  it  stands  distinguished  from  all 
Papal  and  Puritan  innovations,  and  as  it  adheres  to  the 
doctrine  of  the  Cross"?  Have  you  ?  Then  the  evening 
hymn  will  always  have  music  for  jouv  heart ;  and  like  one 
who  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  gentle-minded  hymnist, 
you  will  learn  at  every  night-fall  to  pass  devoutly  into 
sleep  singing  within  your  soul — 


HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  53 

All  praise  to  Tliee,  ray  God,  this  niglit, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light,_ 
Keep  me,  oh,  keep  me.  King  of  kings, 
Beneath  Thine  own  Almighty  wings  ! 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  for  Thy  dear  Son, 
The  iU  that  I  this  day  have  done  ; 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  Thee, 
I,  ere  I  sleep,  at  peace  may  be. 

Teach  me  to  live  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed  ! 
To  die,  that  this  vile  body  may 
Rise  glorious  at  the  awful  day ! 

Oh,  may  my  soul  on  Thee  repose. 
And  may  sweet  sleep  mine  eyelids  close ; 
Sleep,  that  may  me  more  vig'rous  make, 
To  serve  my  God  when  I  awake ! 

When  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 

My  soul  with  heavenly  thoughts  supply  ! 

Let  no  ill  di-eams  disturb  my  rest, 

No  powers  of  darkness  me  molest ! 

Dull  sleep,  of  sense  me  to  deprive  ! 
I  am  but  half  my  time  alive  ; 
Thy  faithful  lovers.  Lord,  are  grieved 
To  lie  so  long  of  Thee  bereav'd. 

But  though  sleep  o'er  my  frailty  reigns, 
Let  it  not  hold  me  long  in  chains  ; 
And  now  and  then  let  loose  my  heart, 
Till  it  an  hallelujah  dart ! 

The  faster  sleep  the  senses  binds, 
The  more  unfettered  are  oiu-  minds  ; 
Oh,  may  my  soul  from  matter  free. 
Thy  loTeliness  unclouded  see  ! 

Oh,  when  shall  I  in  endless  day, 
For  ever  chase  dark  sleep  away, 
And  hymns  with  the  supernal  choir 
Incessant  sing,  and  never  tire  ? 

Oh,  may  my  Guardian  while  I  sleep. 
Close  to  my  bed  his  vigils  keep  ; 
His  love  angelical  instil ; 
Stop  aU  the  avenues  of  ill : 

May  he  celestial  joy  rehearse. 

And  thought  to  thought  with  me  converse  ; 

Or  in  my  stead,  aU  the  night  long, 

Sing  to  my  God  a  grateful  song  ! 


54  nyMN-WKITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Praise  G-od,  from  Trhom  all  blessings  flow, 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below !  / 

Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host ! 
Praise  Father,  Sou,  and  Holy  G-host ! 

Grregory  of  Nazianzen  and  Bishop  Ken  have  long  since 
met,  and  sung  together  where  evening  shadows  never  fall ; 
and  there,  too,  are  the  kindred  spirits  whose  evening  hymns 
form  the  links  between  the  times  of  Grregory  and  Ken. 
There,  among  the  rest,  is  Hilary  of  Aides,  once  bishop, 
popular  preacher,  theologian,  and  poet.  And  there  is 
Ambrose  of  Milan,  whose  morning  and  evening  melodies 
gave  form  of  devotional  expression  to  the  softened  heart  of 
the  great  Augustine,  who  "alone  upon  his  bed"  remem- 
bered the  verses  of  his  friend — 

Maker  of  all,  the  Lord 

And  ruler  of  the  height, 
Wlio,  robing  day  in  lig'ht,  has  poured 

Soft  slumbers  o'er  the  night, 
That  to  our  limbs  the  power 

Of  toil  may  be  renew' d, 
And  hearts  be  rais'd  that  sink  and  cower, 

And  sorrows  be  subdu'd. 

From  one  of  these  hymnists  we  have  one  touching 
strain,  one  of  the  living  links  in  the  Church's  line  of 
evening  hymns — 

Christ  our  day,  our  brig-htest  light, 
With  Thy  face  illume  the  night ; 
Very  Light  of  light  art  Thou, 
Most  blessed  light  imparting  now. 

Oh  most  holy  Lord,  we  pray ; 
Mighty  Guardian,  with  us  stay ; 
"With  quiet  blest  these  hours  be  ; 
All  calm,  while  we  have  rest  in  Thee. 

Let  not  heavy  sleep  oppress  ; 
Let  no  deadly  foe  distress  ; 
Nor  our  flesh  through  him  beguile, 
And  in  Thy  sight  our  soiils  defile. 

Though  sleep  fasten  on  our  eyes, 
Keep  our  hearts  in  wakeful  guise ; 
With  Thine  own  right  hand  defend 
Thy  servants  who  on  Thee  depend. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHEES.  55 

Servants  pixrchased  with.  Tliy  blood, 
Bearing  still  their  mortal  load, 
Lord,  remember  !  meet  us  here, 
Thou  soul  defender,  now  be  near ! 

How  beautiful  are  the  oneness  and  the  harmony  of 
the  evening  voices  that  thus  come  to  us  from  the  dif- 
ferent periods  of  Christian  history.  And  no  one  can 
catch  the  tones  of  evening  worship  from  far-off  ages 
without  feeling  that  they  sweetly  melt  into  that  tender 
melody  of  John  Keble's,  to  which  so  many  hearts  of  our 
own  times  respond,  in  singing  the  evening  hymn  founded 
on  St.  Luke  xxiv.  29,  "Abide  with  us:  for  it  is  toward 
evening,  and  the  day  is  far  spent  " — 

'Tis  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze. 
Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze ; 
Ton  mantling-  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 

In  darkness  and  in  weariness 
The  traveller  on  his  way  must  press. 
No  gleam  to  watch  on  tree  or  tower, 
Whiling  away-  the  lonesome  hoxir. 

Sun  of  my  soul !  Thou  Saviour  dear. 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near ; 
Oh  may  no  earth-bom  cloud  arise 
To  hide  Thee  from  Thy  servant's  eyes. 

When  round  Thy  wondrous  works  below. 
My  searching  rapturous  glance  I  throw ; 
Tracing  out  Wisdom,  Power,  and  Love, 
In  earth  or  sky,  in  stream  or  grove  ; — 

Or  by  the  light  Thy  words  disclose. 
Watch  Time's  full  river  as  it  flows ; 
Scanning  Thy  gracious  providence. 
Where  not  too  deep  for  mortal  sense ; — 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talks  I  hold. 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold  ; 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn. 
Except  in  all  I  Thee  discern. 

Wben  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 

My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep ;  ' 

Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 

For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast.         j 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 

For  withovit  Thee  I  cannot  live  : 

Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh. 

For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 


56  HYMX-WKITERS  AXD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Thou  Framer  of  tlie  liglit  and  dark, 
Steer  through  the  tempest  Thine  own  ark ; 
Amid  the  howling  wintry  sea 
We  are  in  port  if  we  have  Thee. 

The  rulers  of  this  Christian  land, 
'Twixt  Thee  and  us  ordained  to  stand ; 
Guide  Thou  their  course,  0  Lord,  aright. 
Let  all  do  all  as  in  Thy  sight. 

Oh,  by  Thine  own  sad  burthen,  borne 
So  meekly  up  the  hill  of  scorn. 
Teach  thoa  Thy  priests  their  daily  cross 
To  bear  as  Thine,  nor  count  it  loss ! 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  Thine 
Have  spurn' d  to-day  the  voice  divine ; 
Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin ; 
Let  him  no  more  lie  down  in  sin. 

"Watch  by  the  sick :  enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  Thy  boundless  store  : 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night 
Like  infant's  slumbers,  pure  and  light. 

Come  near  and  bless  ixs  when  we  wake, 
Ere  thi-ough  the  world  oiu*  way  we  take ; 
Till  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love 
We  lose  ourselves  in  heaven  above. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

MORE  HYMNS  OF  TEE  FATEEES. 
"  Showing  to  the  generations  to  come  the  praises  of  the  Lord." 

Primitive  Christianity  soou  fonnd  its  way  to  the  old  seats 
of  patriarchal  life.  Some  of  its  first  songs  came  from  across 
the  land  which  has  "  neither  mountain,  valley,  or  even 
plain — the  whole  being  an  unequal  surface  like  the  high 
and  long  waves  of  a  deep  sea  when  subsiding  from  a 
tempest  into  a  calm  ; "  with  verdant  hollows  here  and  there, 
but  with  no  ' '  tree  anywhere  in  sight  to  relieve  the  monotony 
of  the  scene."  Along  this  mysterious  reach,  this  Mesopo- 
tamia, Abraham  came,  refreshing  himself  now  and  then  on 
a  grassy  jilot,  on  his  way  to  Canaan.  He  came  out  of 
"Ur  of  the  Chaldees  "  to  be  the  Father  of  the  faithful ; 
and  from  the  same  place  one,  at  least,  of  the  Christian 
fathers  came.  He,  too,  was  faithful ;  and  by  his  Christian 
hymns  he  made  faithfulness  pleasant  to  his  own  generation 
and  to  many  following  ages.  Ephrem  Syrus  was  born  by 
the  crystal  waters  which  refresh  the  city  of  Orfah,  once 
Edessa,  and  which  form  the  lake  known  to  those  who  enjoy 
the  mulberry  groves  which  overshadow  its  banks  as 
"Abraham  the  beloved,  or  the  Friend  of  Grod."  Ephrem, 
like  all  who  aimed  at  high  spirituality  in  the  fourth  century, 
became  a  devoted  monk ;  and  on  some  aspects  of  his  char- 
acter there  still  remain  shadows  of  the  asceticism  which 
was  peculiar  to  a  time  of  reaction  from  social  licentiousness 
and  decay.  But  with  all  Ephrem's  asceticism,  his  hymns 
testify  that  he  had  learnt  the  lesson  which  the  Saviour  so 
gracefully  taught  his  disciples  ;  that,  though  in  some  cases 
religious  celibacy  might  be  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  and 


58  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

principles  of  His  kingdom — liardness  and  severity  were  in 
no  ease  consistent  with  Christian  piety  ;  that  the  hardness 
which  the  law  of  Moses  admitted,  and  which  showed  itself 
in  those  stern  rebukes  which  were  cast  on  the  women  who 
brought  their  infants  to  Jesus,  must  yield  to  that  gentle 
love  which  looked  with  utmost  tenderness  upon  the  little 
ones  whose  humility,  simplicity,  and  submissiveness  typify 
the  highest  style  of  the  Christian  character.  The  venerable 
Mesopotamian  hymnist,  however  severe  in  his  treatment  of 
self,  was  like  his  divine  Master  in  his  feelings  towards 
children.  He  must  have  laid  his  hands  on  them  lovingly. 
His  smile  must  have  been  full  of  blessing.  How  sweetly 
he  attunes  his  music  to  the  voices  of  his  "little  flock," 
while  he  teaches  them  to  sing  in  unison  with  the  children 
in  paradise — 

To  Thee,  0  G-od,  be  praises 
From  lips  of  babes  and  sucklings, 
As  in  the  heavenly  meadows 

Like  spotless  lambs  they  feed. 

'Mid  leafy  trees  they  pasture. 
Thus  saith  the  Blessed  Spirit ; 
And  Gabriel,  j^rince  of  angels. 
That  happy  flock  doth  lead. 

The  messengers  of  heaven. 
With  sons  of  light  united, 
In  purest  regions  dwelling-, 
No  curse  or  woe  they  see. 

And  at  the  resurrection, 
"With  joy  arise  their  bodies ; 
Their  spirits  knew  no  bondage. 
Their  bodies  now  are  free. 

Brief  here  below  their  sojourn. 
Their  dwelling-  is  in  Eden, 
And  one  bright  day  their  parents 
Hope  yet  with  them  to  be. 

The  heart  that  is  gentle  enough  to  be  childlike  among 
childi'en  must  always  have  deep  sympathy  with  parents, 
especially  vmder  the  sorrows  of  bereavement.  And  many  a 
lover  of  little  children,  though  never  himself  really  touched 
by  the  unspeakable  pang  of  seeing  his  own  babe  breathe 
its  last,  has  shown  himself  capable  of  entering  very  deeply 


MORE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  59 

into  the  feeling  of  the  desolated  parent,  almost  as  if  that 
feeling  were  his  own.  A  few  touching  verses  from  a  living 
author  afford  an  example  of  such  inspirations  of  sympa- 
thizing genius.  The  author  of  "  liecords  of  the  Western 
Shore,"  had  no  child  of  his  own  when  he  issued  his  first 
volume  but  he  utters  the  grief  of  a  Cornish  mother 
thus : — 

They  say  'tis  a  sin  to  sorrow, 

That  what  God  doth  is  best, 
But  'tis  only  a  month  to-morrow 

I  bui'ied  it  from  my  breast ! 

I  know  it  should  be  a  pleasure 

Youi-  child  to  God  to  send. 
But  mine  was  a  precious  treasure 

To  me  and  to  my  poor  Friend  ! 

I  thought  it  wordd  call  me  mother 

The  very  first  words  it  said; 
Oh !  I  never  can  love  another. 

Like  the  blessed  babe  that's  dead ! 

I  shall  make  my  best  endeavour 

That  my  sins  may  be  forgiven ; 
I  will  serve  God  more  than  ever 

To  meet  my  child  in  heaven ! 

I  will  check  this  foolish  sorrow, 

For  what  God  doth  is  best ; 
But  oh  !  'tis  a  month  to-morrow, 

I  buried  it  from  my  breast ! 

Ephrem  Syrus,  too,  monk  as  he  was,  could  deeply 
sympathize  with  a  bereaved  heart ;  and  he  shows  how 
truly  he  made  another's  sorrows  his  own  when  he  per- 
sonates the  Christian  father  lamenting  the  death  of  his 
boy.  He  becomes  as  natural  in  his  utterance  of  parental 
feeling  as  he  is  happy  in  the  expression  of  living  faith: — 

Babe,  the  gift  of  God's  sweet  mercy 

To  thy  mother's  heart  and  mine, 
To  this  world  of  sorrow  coming. 

Beautiful  by  Grace  Divine  ; 
Fair  as  some  sweet  summer  flower : 

Till  that  hand  of  deathly  shade 
Scathed  the  beavity  of  my  blossom, 

Made  the  lovely  petals  fade. 
Yet  I  will  not  grieve  nor  murmur, 

For  the  King  of  kings  is  thine ; 
To  his  marriage  chamber  taken. 

Bridal  joys  are  ever  tliine. 


60  HYMN-WKITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Nature  would  have  me  repining, 

Love  would  hold  a  mournful  sway  : 
But  I  tell  them,  heav'n  hag  call'd  thee 

To  its  scenes  of  endless  day. 
And  I  fear  that  by  lamenting, 

Breathing  tearfully  thy  name, 
I  might  in  the  Royal  presence 

For  my  sorrow  merit  blame  ; 
By  my  tears  of  bitter  anguish 

Desecrate  the  home  of  joy; 
Therefore  will  I,  meekly  bending, 

Give  thee  up  to  G-od,  my  boy. 

Still  thy  voice,  thy  infant  music 

Dwells  for  ever  in  my  ears  ; 
And  fond  mem'ry,  while  I  listen, 

Sheds  forth  many  natural  tears. 
Of  thy  pretty  prattle  thinking. 

And  the  lispings  of  thy  love, 
I  should  soon  begin  to  murmur, 

Were  I  not  to  look  above ; 
But  the  songs  of  blessed  sjDirits 

Make  me  wonder,  love,  and  long : — 
Oh  those  endless  sweet  hosannas ; 

Angels  sing  thy  bridal  song. 

Hymns  like  tliese  come  down  to  ns  as  pleasant  records 
of  tliat  Christian  simplicity  with  which  some  of  the  fathers 
showed  forth  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  their  Saviour's 
words,  "  Whosoever  therefore  shall  humble  himself  as  this 
little  child,  the  same  is  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven."  One  of  the  finest  examples  of  this  Christian 
greatness,  this  beautiful  association  of  mental  dignity  and 
spiritual  power  with  childlike  simplicity  and  pure  humble- 
ness and  submissiveness,  is  seen  in  the  justly-celebrated 
and  sainted  Augustine.  He  has  not,  like  Ephrem,  em- 
balmed his  gentle  spirit  in  hymns  for  little  ones ;  but  he 
has  immortalized  those  who,  like  himself,  were  "  converted 
and  became  as  little  children,"  and  who,  amidst  the  joys 
of  their  first  love,  consecrated  their  genius  to  the  work  of 
providing  both  the  elders  and  the  children  of  the  Church 
with  hymns  and  spiritual  songs.  "  I  remember,"  says  he, 
in  his  holy  converse  with  Grod — "I  remember  the  tears  I 
shed  at  the  psalmody  of  Thy  Church,  in  the  beginning  of 

my  recovered  faith How  did  I  weep  through  Thy 

hymns  and  canticles,  touched  to  the  quick  by  the  voices  of 
Thy  sweet  attuned  Church.      The  voices  sank  into  mine 


MORE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  61 

ears,  and  the  truth  distilled  into  mine  heart ;  whence  the 
affections  of  my  devotions  overflowed,  tears  ran  down,  and 

happy  was  I  therein And  how  at  this  time  I  was 

moved,  not  with  the  sing-ing,  hut  with  the  things  sung. 
When  they  are  sung  with  a  clear  voice  and  modulation 
most  suitable,  I  acknowledge  the  great  use  of  this  institu- 
tion." His  account  of  the  first  hymn-service  in  the  church 
at  Milan,  the  place  of  his  first  love,  is  touching  and  instruc- 
tive. ''It  was  a  year,  or  not  much  more,  that  Justina, 
mother  to  the  Emperor  Valentinian,  then  a  child,  perse- 
cu.ted  Thy  servant  Ambrose  in  favour  of  her  heresy,  to 
which  she  was  seduced  by  the  Ai-ians.  The  devout  people 
kept  watch  in  the  church,  ready  to  die  with  their  bishop. 
Thy  servant.  There  my  mother.  Thy  handmaid,  bearing  a 
chief  part  in  those  anxieties  and  watchings,  lived  for 
prayer.  We,  yet  unwarmed  by  the  heat  of  Thy  Spirit,  still 
were  stirred  up  by  the  sight  of  the  amazed  and  disquieted 
city.  Then  it  was  instituted  that,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Eastern  Churches,  hymns  and  psalms  should  be  sung,  lest 
the  people  should  wax  faint  through  the  tediousness  of 
sorrow,  and  from  that  day  to  this  the  custom  is  retained." 
The  Christian  "Hock  which  thus  kejjt  up  their  chant  and 
song  in  "troublous  times,"  were  supplied  with  many  of 
their  favourite  hymns  by  their  diligent,  faithful,  and  gifted 
bishop,  Ambrose,  Augustine's  beloved  friend.  Some  of 
his  songs  are  favourites  still,  and  have  been  sung  from 
age  to  age,  becoming  fresher  and  fresher  until  our  own 
times,  and  are  now  giving  the  promise  of  renewed  life.  It 
is  interesting  to  see  that  the  man  who,  under  the  prejudices 
of  his  times,  utters  libels  ujDon  matrimony,  melts  into  child- 
like tenderness  when  he  sings  of  Jesus,  and  feels  that  his 
Saviour  became  an  infant  that  He  might  save  infants,  and 
hallow  human  nature  in  aU  its  relations.  This  more  pure 
and  gentle  Christian  feeling  may  be  traced  in  the  "  Advent 
Hymn,"  so  well  known  as  one  of  the  flowers  which  wreathe 
his  memory — 

Redeemer  of  the  nations,  come ; 
Pure  offspring-  of  the  Virgin's  womb, 
Seed  of  the  Avoman  promised  long, 
Let  ages  swell  Thine  advent  song. 

Once  from  the  Father  came  He  forth, 
Home  to  the  Father  rose  from  earth  ; 


62  HTMN-WRITEES  AJTD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  depths  of  hell  the  Saviour  trod, 
Now  seated  on  the  throne  of  God. 

To  God  the  Father  equal,  Word, 
Thy  mortal  vesture  on  Thee  gird ; 
The  wealcness  of  our  flesh  at  length 
Sustaining  by  Thy  changeless  strength. 

Thy  cradle  shine  the  darkness  through, 
Illuming  night  with  lustre  new, 
Which  never  night  shall  hide  again. 
But  faith  in  ceaseless  lig'ht  retain. 

Nor  has  hallo'wed  genius  lost  its  tender  affection  for  the 
"  Holy  Child  Jesus."  Ephrem  Syrus  has  long  since  left 
his  Eastern  retreat,  and  the  cloisters  of  the  West  no  longer 
echo  to  the  voices  of  Ambrose  and  his  companions ;  but 
spirits  of  equal  simplicity,  and  voices  of  even  more  than 
equal  sweetness  continue  to  supply  God's  children  with 
hymns  and  spiritual  songs.  One  of  Ambrose's  last  strains 
seems  to  have  some  gentle  relation  to  the  hymn  of  a 
modern  bishop,  whose  amiable  soul  breathes  its  music  from 
an  Eastern  mission  Church.  Ephrem,  and  Ambrose,  and 
Heber  were  kindred  spirits.  They  might  be  thought  to 
emulate  each  other  in  songs  on  "  the  childhood  of  Christ." 
The  pure  and  delicate  beauty  of  Heber' s  hj^mn  would  have 
charmed  the  ancient  hymnists,  as  it  insinuates  its  affec- 
tionate devotion  into  every  "new-born  babe"  in  Christ 
who  has  learnt  to  sing  it — 

By  cool  Siloam's  shady  rill 

How  sweet  the  lily  grows ; 
How  sweet  the  breath  beneath  the  hill 

Of  Sharon's  dewy  rose  ! 

Lo,  such  the  chUd,  whose  early  feet 

The  paths  of  peace  have  trod ; 
Whose  secret  heart,  with  influence  sweet. 

Is  upward  drawn  to  God ! 

By  cool  Siloam's  shady  rill 

The  lily  miist  decay ; 
The  rose  that  blooms  beneath  the  hill 

Must  shortly  fade  away. 

And  soon,  too  soon,  the  -wintry  hour 

Of  man's  maturer  age, 
Will  shake  the  soul  with  sorrow's  power, 

And  stormy  passions  rage ! 


MOBE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  63 

0  Thou  whose  infant  feet  were  found 

"Within  Thy  Father's  shrine! 
Whose  years,  with  changeless  virtue  crowned, 

Were  all  alike  di^ane. 

Dependent  on  Thy  bounteous  breath, 

We  seek  Thy  grace  alone, 
In  childhood,  manhood,  age,  and  death, 

To  keep  us  stiU  Thine  own ! 

We  can  never  sing  tHiis  abont  tlie  cliildhood  of  Christ 
without  having  our  pleasures  deepened  by  the  assurance 
that  our  children  have  a  sacred  interest  in  "the  Holy 
Child."  Yes,  Jesus  smiles  to  see  the  cradled  infant  hushed 
by  a  Christian  lullaby.  Each  little  one  is  sacred  to  Him 
who  was  once  swaddled  in  the  manger.  It  was  this  thought 
that  used  at  once  to  melt  and  brighten  the  sturdy  German 
Reformer  as  he  hung  over  his  sleeping  darling,  and  sang — 

Sleep  well,  my  dear ;  sleep  safe  and  free  ; 
The  holy  angels  are  with  thee, 
Who  always  see  thy  Father's  face, 
And  never  slumber  nights  nor  days. 

Thou  liest  in  down,  soft  every  way ; 
Thy  Saviour  lay  in  straw  and  hay ; 
Thy  cradle  is  far  better  drest 
Than  the  hard  crib  where  He  did  rest. 

None  dare  disturb  thy  i^resent  ease ; 
He  had  a  thousand  enemies ; 
Thou  liv'st  in  great  security ; 
But  He  was  punished,  and  for  thee ! 

Grod  make  thy  mother's  health  increase, 
To  see  thee  grow  in  strength  and  grace, 
In  wisdom  and  hiimility, 
As  infant  Jesus  did  for  thee ! 

God  fill  thee  with  His  heavenly  light 
To  steer  thy  Christian  coiu'se  arig-ht ; 
Make  thee  a  tree  of  blessed  root. 
That  ever  bends  with  godly  fruit ! 

Sleep  now,  my  dear,  and  take  thy  rest ; 
And  if  with  riper  years  thou'rt  blest. 
Increase  in  vrisdom,  day  and  night. 
Till  thou  attain' st  th'  eternal  light ! 

And  who  that  knows  Greorge  Wither's  "rocking  hymn" 
is  not  thankful  to  providence  that  it  has  outlived  the  storms 


64  HYMN-WKITEES  AND  THEIK  HYMNS. 

that  beset  its  author's  later  life,  and  is  still  adapted  to  its 
original  purpose  ?  "  Nurses,"  says  he,  quaintly,  "  usually 
sing  their  children  asleep,  and,  throught  want  of  pertinent 
matter,  they  oft  make  use  of  unprofitahle,  if  not  worse 
songs ;  this  was  therefore  prepared,  that  it  might  help 
acquaint  them  and  their  nurse  children  with  the  loving 
care  and  kindness  of  their  heavenly  Father." 

■     Sweet  baby,  sleep ;  what  ails  my  dear ; 
What  ails  my  darling  thus  to  cry  ? 
Be  still,  my  child,  and  lend  thine  ear. 
To  hear  me  sing  thy  lullaby. 

My  pretty  lamb,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  dear ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  blessed  soul,  what  can'st  thou  fear  ? 
"What  thing  to  thee  can  mischief  do  ? 
Thy  God  is  now  thy  Father  dear, 
His  holy  spouse  thy  mother  too. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Whilst  thus  thy  lullaby  I  sing, 

For  thee  great  blessings  ripening  be ; 

Thine  eldest  brother  is  a  king, 

And  hath  a  kingdom  bought  for  thee. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Sweet  baby,  sleep,  and  nothing  fear, 
For  whosoever  thee  offends, 
By  thy  protector  threaten' d  are. 
And  God  and  angels  are  thy  friends. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

When  God  with  us  was  dwelling  here, 
In  little  babes  He  took  delight ; 
Such  innocents  as  thou,  my  dear  ! 
Are  ever  precious  in  His  sight. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

A  little  infant  once  was  He, 

And  strength  in  weakness  then  was  laid 

Upon  his  virgin  mother's  knee. 

That  power  to  thee  might  be  conveyed. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby  sleep. 


MORE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  65 

In  this  thy  frailty  and  thy  need, 
He  friends  and  helpers  doth  prepare, 
"Which  thee  shall  cherish,  clothe,  and  feed ; 
For  of  thy  weal  they  tender  are. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

The  liing  of  kings,  when  He  was  born. 
Had  not  so  miich  for  outward  ease  ; 
By  him  such  dressings  were  not  worn, 
Nor  such  like  swaddling  clothes  as  these. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

"Within  a  manger  lodged  thy  Lord  I 
"Where  oxen  lay,  and  asses  fed  ; 
"Warm  rooms  we  do  to  thee  afford, 
An  easy  cradle  or  a  bed. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

The  wants  that  He  did  then  sustain 
Have  purchased  wealth,  my  babe,  for  thee ; 
And  by  His  torments  and  His  pain 
Thy  rest  and  ease  secured  be. 

My  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  hast  yet  more  to  perfect  this, 
A  promise  and  an  earnest  got. 
Of  gaining  everlasting  bliss, 
Though  thou,  my  babe,  perceiv'st  it  not. 

Sweet  baby,  then,  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

The  author  of  this  pattern  Christian  lullaby  was  horu 
June  11,  1588.  His  portrait  has  come  down  to  us  sur- 
rounded by  the  quaint  motto,  "I  grow  and  wither  both 
together;  "  but  neither  the  portrait  nor  the  motto  gives  us 
so  deep  and  clear  an  insight  into  his  character  as  the  poems 
of  his  earlier  life.  His  genius  shone  brightest  while  he 
was  a  Eoyalist ;  and  his  "  Eocking  Hymn  "  was  probably 
written  before  his  tenderness  had  given  way  to  the  more 
bitter  spirit  of  satire,  which  he  sometimes  vented  after  he 
had  sided  with  Cromwell,  and  had  tasted  the  bitter  fruits 
of  change  in  the  loss  of  both  power  and  fortune.  Who  is 
not  sorry  to  see  the  man  whose  early  hymns  gave  forth 
"  the  finest  bursts  of  sunshine,"  struggling  for  popularity 

E 


66  UTiCf-TrRTTERS  AlfD  THEIR  HY^INS. 

under  the  thick  cloxul  which  gathered  at  last  over  his  party 
and  his  character,  b}"  sending  out  squibs  under  the  title  of 
"abuses  whipt  and  stript?"  Nevertheless,  peace  to  his 
memory.  He  has  taught  many  a  Christian  mother  and 
nurse  to  hush  her  baby  into  rest  by  singing  of  its  happy 
relation  to  Jesus :  and  perhaps  Watts  had  seen  his  verses, 
and  caught  from  them  the  notion  of  his  own  "  Cradle 
Hymn."  At  all  events,  we  naturally  think  of  Watts  as 
we  sing  the  "Rocking  H3^mn  "  over  the  cradle.  Nobody 
can  sing  about  children,  or  teach  children  to  sing,  without 
grateful  thoughts  of  Isaac  Watts.  He,  too,  had  felt 
deeply  that  the  "  Holy  child  Jesus"  had  procured  for  our 
children  the  joy  of  taking  a  part  in  "  Hosannas  to  the 
Son  of  David;"  that  the  voice  of  "  little  ones  "  is  divine 
music  in  the  ears  of  Jesus  ;  and  that  to  Him  the  songs  of 
infancy  are  as  the  incense  of  the  morning.  "  During  my 
stay  by  the  sea-side,  at  one  time,"  said  a  lady  whose 
appearance  was  always  graceful,  though  she  never  seemed 
to  follow  the  fashion,  "I  used  to  be  charmed  everj" morn- 
ing by  the  voices  of  the  children  in  the  nursery,  singing  as 
they  dressed,  under  the  guidance  of  the  nurse,  the  inimi- 
table little  song  by  Watts,  '  against  pride  in  clothes.'  The 
music  seemed  to  be  the  voice  of  innocence  itsplf.  I  used 
to  think  of  Him  who  taught  us  how  to  be  clothed  with 
humility ;  and  my  soul  felt  now  and  then  as  if  He  must  be 
listening  with  pleasure  to  the  dear  little  creatures  singing 
their  morning  lesson  about  the  '  blest  apparel.'  The  les- 
son was  hallowed  to  me.  The  exquisite  little  song  was 
never  to  leave  me,  and  I  am  all  the  better  for  the  habit 
which  those  darling  children  tavight  me  of  humming  to 
myself,  now  aiad  then — 

Why  should  our  garments,  made  to  hide 
Our  parents'  shame,  provoke  our  pride  ? 
The  act  of  dress  did  ne'er  begin 
Till  Eve  our  mother  learnt  to  sin. 

When  first  she  pixt  the  covering  en, 
Her  robe  of  innocence  was  gone ; 
And  yet  her  children  vainly  boast 
In  the  sad  marks  of  glory  lost. 

How  proud  we  are,  how  fond  to  show 
Our  clothes,  and  call  them  rich  and  new ; 
When  the  poor  sheep  and  silkworm  wore 
That  very  clothing  long  before. 


KOEE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  67 

The  tulip  and  the  butterfly- 
Appear  in  gayer  clothes  than  I : 
Let  me  be  drest  fine  as  I  will, 
Flies,  worms,  and  flowers  exceed  me  still. 

Then  wiU  I  set  my  heart  to  flnd 
Inward  adornings  of  the  mind ; 
Knowledge  and  virtue,  truth  and  grace. 
These  are  the  robes  of  richest  dress. 

No  more  shall  worms  with  me  compare, 
This  is  the  raiment  angels  wear ; 
The  Son  of  God,  when  here  below. 
Put  on  this  blest  apjiarel  too. 

It  never  fades,  it  ne'er  grows  old. 

Nor  fears  the  rain,  nor  moth,  nor  mold ; 

It  takes  no  spot,  but  still  refines. 

The  more  'tis  worn,  the  more  it  shines. 

In  this  on  earth  would  I  appear. 
Then  go  to  heaven,  and  wear  it  there ; 
Grod  will  approve  it  in  His  sight, 
'Tis  His  own  work,  and  His  delight." 

Would  that  the  childisli  multitude  were  learning  to 
"murmur"  this  heautiful  lesson,  and  to  practise  it,  in 
these  days  of  growing  strife  and  vicious  rage  for  mere 
appearances.  "Watts"  should  be  a  household  name 
among  all  English  children.  He  is  always  at  home  with 
little  ones.  He  is  heart  to  heart  with  them,  and  therefore 
always  makes  them  understand ;  and  never  fails  to  sway 
their  feeling.  He  is  the  child's  hymnist.  As  such,  none 
have  surpassed  him  ;  few  are  his  equals.  He  never  lowers 
the  manliness  of  his  simplicity  when  he  sings  with  chil- 
dren, though  be  not  unfrequently  becomes  puerile  when 
he  provides  hymns  for  men.  In  this  respect  Charles 
Wesley  has  the  advantage  over  him.  Wesley  never,  like 
Watts,  brings  a  mature  congregation  plump  down  from 
grandeur  into  childishness.  When  leading  the  devo- 
tions of  adults,  his  vigour  never  fails,  though  his  music 
may  now  and  then  falter.  He  never  has  to  make  so 
curious  an  apology  for  namby-pamby  verses  as  Watts  j^uts 
forth  in  excuse  for  occasional  trips  into  tameness.  "If," 
says  Watts,  "the  verses  appear  so  gentle  and  flowing  as 
to  incur  the  censure  of  feebleness,  I  may  honestly  affirm 
that  sometimes  it  cost  me  labour  to  make  it  so.     Some  of 


68  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

the  beauties  of  poesy  are  neglected,  and  some  wilfully 
defaced,  lest  a  more  exalted  turn  of  thought  or  language 
should  darken  or  disturb  the  devotions  of  the  weakest 
souls."  Who  can  wonder  that  such  an  apologist  should 
sometimes  flatter  the  devotions  of  adult  worshippers  by 
forcing  on  them  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  ?  Wesley  never 
does  that ;  at  the  same  time,  as  a  child's  hymnist,  he  is 
never  below  the  standard  of  Watts ;  never  being  out  of 
tune  with  the  voices,  thoughts,  or  hearts  of  little  ones. 
Some  of  his  hymns  for  children  have  been  issued,  on  some 
occasions,  with  Watts' s  name  attached,  comparative  igno- 
rance of  hymnology  favouring  the  notion  that  all  merit  in 
juvenile  psalmody  must  necessarily  belong  to  the  author  of 
"  Divine  and  Moral  Songs."  So  it  has  happened  with  one 
of  the  best  known  of  Wesley's  "  Hymns  for  the  Youngest." 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild. 
Look  upon  a  little  child  ; 
Pity  m.y  simplicity. 
Suffer  me  to  come  to  Thee. 

Fain  I  would  to  Thee  be  brought, 
Dearest  God,  forbid  it  not ; 
Give  me,  dearest  God,  a  place 
In  the  kingdom  of  Thy  grace. 

Put  Thy  hands  upon  my  head. 
Let  me  in  Thy  arms  be  stay'd, 
Let  me  lean  upon  Thy  breast. 
Lull  me,  lull  me.  Lord,  to  rest. 

Hold  me  fast  in  Thy  embrace. 
Let  me  see  Thy  smiling  face. 
Give  me.  Lord,  Thy  blessing  give, 
Pray  for  me,  and  I  shall  live  : 

I  shall  live  the  simple  life. 
Free  from  sin's  uneasy  strife, 
Sweetly  ignorant  of  ill, 
Innocent  and  happy  still. 

0  that  I  may  never  know 
What  the  wicked  people  do ! 
Sin  is  contrary  to  Thee, 
Sin  is  the  foi-bidden  tree. 

Keep  me  from  the  great  offence, 
Guard  my  helpless  innocence. 
Hide  me,  from  all  evil  hide. 
Self,  and  stubbornness,  and  pride. 


MOEE  HYMNS  OF  THE  FATHERS.  69 

The  second  part  of  this  favourite  hymn  is  of  surpassing 
beauty.  It  wins  its  way  into  the  soul  of  every  child  who 
lisps  it ;  gently  opening  the  heart  to  let  the  infant  Saviour 
in :  — 

Lamb  of  God,  I  look  to  Thee, 

Thou  shalt  my  example  be ; 

Thou  art  gentle,  meek,  and  mild ; 

Thou  was't  once  a  little  child. 

Fain  I  would  be  as  Thou  art, 
Grive  me  Thy  obedient  heart ; 
Thou  art  pitiful  and  kind. 
Let  me  have  Thy  loving  mind. 

Meek  and  lowly  may  I  be, 
Thou  art  all  humility  ; 
Let  me  to  my  betters  bow. 
Subject  to  Thy  parents  Thou. 

Let  me  above  all  fulfil 
God  my  heavenly  Father's  will. 
Never  His  good  Spirit  grieve. 
Only  to  His  glory  live. 

Thoti  did'st  live  to  God  alone, 
Thou  did'st  never  seek  Thine  own, 
Thou  thyself  did'st  never  please, 
God  was  all  Thy  happiness. 

Lo-\^ng  Jesus,  gentle  Lamb, 
In  Thy  gracious  hands  I  am, 
Make  me,  Savioiir,  what  Thou  art, 
Live  Thyself  witliin  my  heart. 

I  shall  then  show  forth  Thy  praise, 
Serve  Thee  all  my  happy  days. 
Then  the  world  shall  always  see 
Christ,  the  holy  Child,  in  me. 

James  Montgomery  has  followed  Watts  and  Wesley, 
not  to  rival  their  fame,  or  to  eclipse  it ;  but  to  claim  a 
share  in  the  joy  of  teaching  childhood  to  honour  and  love 
the  Divine  lover  of  little  children.  Nor  does  he  claim  an 
equal  place  in  vain.  His  voice,  his  taste,  his  manner,  and 
his  heart  are  all  worthy  of  a  position  in  the  leading  choir 
of  children's  hymnists  ;  and  one  of  his  tender  expressions 
of  youthful  devotion  may  be  gracefully  associated  with 
the  most  piu'e  and  touching  hymns  of  the  fathers  about 
the  childhood  of  Jesus. 


70  1IYMX-"WEITEE8  AND  THEIR  HYMXS. 

When  Jesus  left  His  Father's  throue, 

He  chose  an  humble  birth  ; 
Like  us,  unhonoured  and  unknown, 

He  came  to  dwell  on  earth. 

Like  Him,  may  we  be  fomid  below 

In  wisdom's  paths  of  peace ; 
Like  Him,  in  grace  and  knowledge  grow, 

As  years  and  strength  increase. 

Jesus  pass'd  by  the  rich  and  great 

For  men  of  low  degree  ; 
He  sanctified  our  parents'  state, 

For  poor,  like  them,  was  He. 

Sweet  were  His  words,  and  kind  His  look. 
When  mothers  round  Him  press'd ; 

Their  infants  in  His  arms  He  took, 
And  on  His  bosom  bless' d. 

Safe  from  the  world's  alluring  harms, 

Beneath  His  watchful  eye, 
Thus  in  the  circle  of  His  arms 

May  we  for  ever  lie ! 

When  Jesus  into  Salem  rode, 

The  childi-en  sang  around ; 
For  joy  they  pluck' d  the  palms,  and  strew' d 

Their  garments  on  the  ground. 

Hosanna  our  glad  voices  raise, 

Hosanna  to  our  King ! 
Shoiild  we  forget  our  Saviour's  praise. 

The  stones  themselves  would  sing  I 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

SYJIXS  OF  OLD  ENGLAND'S  CHRISTIAN  BIRTH-TIME. 
"  And  the  j)eople  that  shall  be  created  shall  praise  the  Lord." 

"When  I  lived  at  Lichfield,"  said  a  lady  to  a  clerical 
friend,  "  I  used,  now  and  then,  to  attend  the  ordination 
service  ;  and  I  learnt  one  thing  at  least." 

"  What  was  that  ?  " 

"Why,  that  there  are  some  hymns  which,  though  they 
are  known  to  be  mere  human  compositions,  are  scarcely 
ever  sung  without  touching  the  soul  in  a  manner  very  like 
that  of  inspired  truth." 

"  Pray,  what  impressed  you  with  that  thought  ? 

"Well,  I  observed  that  there  were  always  some  among 
the  candidates  for  ordination  who  seemed  disposed  to  go 
through  the  service  without  seriousness,  if  not  in  a  style 
approaching  to  levity,  even  during  the  time  allowed  for 
silent  prayer ;  but  that  as  soon  as  the  hymn  '  Veni  Creator 
Spiritus '  was  begun,  a  solemn  hush  and  reverent  feeling 
appeared  to  rest  on  each  and  all." 

"  Which  of  the  hymns  do  you  refer  to  ?  There  are  two 
in  the  ordination  service." 

"The  first.  And  now  let  me  read  it.  And  if  I  can 
read  so  as  to  give  you  the  feeling  with  which  it  always 
impresses  me,  I  think  you  will  believe  as  I  do,  that  the 
Holy  Ghost  honours  the  hymn  by  M'hich  He  is  honoured, 
and  breathes  a  holy  power  into  its  gracious  lines.  Let 
me  read." 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  our  souls  inspire, 
And  lif^hten  with  celestial  fire. 


72  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Thou  the  anointing  Spirit  art, 

Who  dost  Thy  seven-fold  gifts  impart. 

Thy  blessed  unction  from  above 
Is  comfort,  life,  and  fire  of  love. 

Enable  with  perpetual  light 
The  dulness  of  our  blinded  sight. 

Anoint  and  cheer  our  soiled  face 
With  the  abundance  of  Thy  grace. 

Keep  far  our  foes,  give  peace  at  home : 
Where  Thou  art  guide  no  ill  can  come. 

Teach  us  to  know  the  Father,  Son, 
And  Thee  of  both  to  be  but  one ; 

That  through  the  ages  all  along, 
This  may  be  our  endless  song ; 

Praise  to  Thine  eternal  merit, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit. 

The  lady  was  right ;  and  her  clerical  friend  confessed  to 
the  feeling  in  which  manj^  many  have  shared,  a  sense  of 
the  spiritual  nnction  which  attends  this  as  well  as  several 
other  hymns  of  like  primitive  simplicity  and  power.  And 
he  was  reminded,  he  said,  of  Keble's  Ordination  Hymn, 
in  which  this  feeling  is  so  sweetly  expressed.  The  hymn 
is  founded  on  that  passage  in  tlie  rubric  in  the  "  Office  for 
Ordering  Priests,"  "After  this  the  congregation  shall  be 
desired,  secretly  in  their  prayers  to  make  their  humble 
supplication  to  God  for  all  these  things;  for  the  which 
prayers  there  shall  be  silence  kept  for  a  space.  After 
which  shall  be  sung  or  said  by  the  bishop  (the  persons  to 
be  ordained  priests  all  kneeling)  '  Veni  Creator  Spiritus.'  " 

'Twas  silence  in  Thy  temple.  Lord, 

When  slowly  through  the  hallowed  air. 

The  spreading  clovid  of  incense  soared, 

Charged  with  the  breath  of  Israel's  prayer. 

'Twas  silence  round  Thy  throne  on  high, 

When  the  last  wondrous  seal  unclos'd; 
And  in  the  portals  of  the  sky 

Thine  armies  awfully  repos'd. 

And  this  deep  pause,  that  o'er  us  now 

Is  hovering — comes  it  not  of  Thee  ? 
Is  it  not  like  a  mother's  vow, 

When  with  her  darling  on  her  knee, 


HYMNS  OF  OLD  ENGLAND'S  CHRISTIAN  BIRTH-TIME.  73 

She  weighs  and  numbers  o'er  and  o'er 
Love's  treasures  hid  in  her  fond  breast ; 

To  cull  from  that  exhaustless  store 
The  dearest  blessing  and  the  best  ? 

And  where  shall  mother's  bosom  find, 

"With  all  its  deep  love-leanied  skill, 
A  prayer  so  sweetly  to  her  mind, 

As,  in  this  sacred  hour-  and  still, 

Is  wafted  from  the  white-rob'd  choir. 

Ere  yet  the  pvire  high -breathed  lay, 
"Come,  Holy  Ghost,  our  soiUs  inspire," 

Rise  floating  on  its  dove-like  way  ? 

And  when  it  comes,  so  deep  and  clear 

The  strain,  so  soft  the  melting  fall. 
It  seems  not  to  the  entranced  ear 

Less  than  Thine  own  heart-cheering  call. 

Spirit  of  Christ — Thine  earnest  given 

That  these  our  prayers  are  heard  ;  and  they 

Who  grasp,  this  hour,  the  sword  of  heaven 
Shall  feel  Thee  on  their  weary  way. 

The  "  Vmi  Creator  Spiritns^'  was  introduced  into  tlie 
ritual  of  the  AVestern  Church  about  the  end  of  the  eleventh 
century ;  and  with  beautiful  consistency,  as  an  utterance, 
probably,  from  the  lips  of  one  whose  name  marks  an  era  in 
the  history  of  church  music  ;  and  it  was  gracefullj' retained 
in  the  service  of  the  English  Church  as  a  contribution  from 
the  man  to  whom  England  owes  her  first  lesson  in  Chris- 
tianity. This  was  Gregory  the  Great,  a  man  whose  name 
is  one  of  the  landmarks  of  history,  and  whose  character,  in 
grand  oiitline,  will  ever  remain  as  the  most  distinguished 
honour  of  his  generation.  He  was  a  man  for  his  times. 
Shut  up  in  Eome,  with  savage  hordes  at  the  gates,  and 
pestilence,  famine,  and  flood  within ;  with  heresy  in  the 
provinces,  and  the  care  of  every  department  weighing 
heavily  upon  him  at  home,  he  never  "  bated  jot  of  heart 
or  hope,''  but  met  every  demand  in  turn ;  always  ready, 
always  prompt,  alwaj^s  decided,  and  generally  successful. 
He  was  modest  and  simple  in  his  dress,  plain  in  his  house- 
hold, severe  to  himself,  but  ceaselessly  kind  to  others. 
He  was  at  once  the  domestic  economist,  the  vigilant  land- 
owner, the  municipal  overseer.  Now,  he  is  the  watchful 
diplomatist ;  then  the  soldier,  superintending  his  own 
commissariat,  planning  his  own  defences,  and  directing  his 


/  4  HYMN-WBITEKS  AND  THEIR  nYMU S. 

troops.  Now  in  the  pulpit,  passionately  rousing  his  flock 
to  spiritual  life  and  action ;  in  the  cloisters,  keeping  his 
monks  to  their  discipline ;  or  in  his  closet,  writing 
"  morals  "  on  the  Book  of  Job,  or  keeping  up  a  wide  cor- 
respondence with  kings  and  queens,  ecclesiastics  and 
scholars.  Then,  in  the  choir,  reforming  the  church  ser- 
vice, and  giving  that  musical  impulse  to  the  Christian 
■world  which  will  be  felt  as  long  as  the  "  Gregorian  Chant" 
continues  to  charm  a  human  soul.  Indeed  he  was  evevj- 
thing  which  his  chui'ch  and  his  times  required.  If  to  us 
he  seems  over- credulous,  he  was  only  conformed  to  the 
fashion  of  his  day ;  and  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the 
same  reproach,  if  reproach  it  be,  has  been  cast  upon 
almost  every  man  who  has  been  a  leader  of  his  generation. 
In  his  time  the  Teutonic  tribes  had  cut  out  their  "  marks" 
in  this  island,  and  had  fairly  taken  possession  of  the  soil. 
They  were  as  yet  heathen,  but  thej^  were  the  chosen  in- 
struments of  heaven  in  renovating  and  reorganizing  the 
Avestern  world,  and  in  preparing  Christendom  for  her 
benevolent  mission 

"  to  the  farthest  verge 
Of  the  green  earth." 

But  who  first  ministered  to  them  the  truth  which  touched, 
and  purified,  and  consecrated  their  minds  and  hearts  to  the 
nobler  service  of  Him  by  whose  providence  they  had  so  far 
been  trained  ?  It  was  Gregory  the  Great.  Let  no  Pro- 
testant be  alarmed;  his  religion  is  not  in  danger.  Pro- 
testantism must  never  be  blind  to  truth,  nor  do  its  interests 
ever  require  us  to  be  unfair.  The  scattered  remnants  of 
the  unfaithful  British  Church  had  proved  themselves 
unable  or  unwilling  to  evangelize  the  rude  Teutons,  and 
the  first  Christian  mission  to  these  Teutons  was  from 
Gregory.  The  sight  of  some  young  Saxon  slaves  in  the 
Roman  markets  probably  touched  his  heart,  and  suggested 
the  first  thought  of  a  mission  to  England.  He  would  fain 
have  entered  on  the  mission  himself,  but  he  was  too 
valuable  a  man  for  Pome  to  lose.  When  raised  to  the 
Papal  chair,  amidst  all  his  labours  and  cares,  his  favourite 
scheme  was  not  forgotten.  His  first  purpose  was  to  pro- 
cure young  natives  from  the  slave  market,  and  have  them 
trained  as  evangelists  to  their  countrj^men.     This  process. 


HYMNS  OF  OLD  ENGLAND'S  CHRISTIAN  BIRTH-TIME.  75 

however,  was  too  slow  for  Lis  impatient  zeal.  He  fell 
back  on  his  mouks,  selected  a  missionary  band  of  nearly 
forty,  and  in  the  year  596  sent  them,  with  many  exhorta- 
tions and  blessings,  to  the  coast  of  Kent.  England  still 
reaps  the  fruit  of  his  success,  and,  it  may  be,  records  her 
early  sense  of  obligation  to  Gregory  in  her  national  legend 
of  "  St.  Greorge  (or  St.  Gregory)  and  the  Dragon."  Pagan- 
ism (the  "Dragon")  in  England  fell  before  the  cross;  and 
the  ultimate  result  of  Augustine's  mission  was  the  establish'^ 
ment  of  a  Saxon  Church,  which,  for  many  generations, 
exemplified  the  purity  and  power  of  the  Christian  faith. 
Like  the  primitive  churches,  it  had  its  "psalms,  and  hymns, 
and  spiritual  songs,"  some  of  them  borrowed  from  the 
land  to  which  it  owed  its  spiritual  birth,  and  others,  in 
native  Saxon  rhythm,  springing  from  the  warm  and  simple 
hearts  of  English  converts.  A  few  precious  fragments  of 
native  hymnology  remain,  and  a  translation  from  the 
Codex  Exoniensis  may  afford  some  notion  of  the  simple 
heartiness  and  quaint  music  of  a  Saxon  hvmn  "to  the 
Holy  Trinity." 

Holy  art  Thou,  holy. 
Lord  of  archangels, 
True  Lord  of  triiimph, 
Ever  Thou  art  holy, 
Lord  of  lords. 
Thy  power  for  ever  lasteth 
Earthly  with  men, 
In  every  time 
Widely  revered ; 
Thou  art  God  of  hosts, 
Eor  Thou  hast  filled 
Earth  and  heavens — 
Safeguard  of  warriors ! 
"With  Thy  glory, 
Patron  of  all  beings ! 
Be  to  Thee  in  the  highest 
Eternal  health. 
And  on  earth  praise. 
Bright  with  men. 
Live  Thou  blessed, 
Who,  in  the  Lord's  name, 
With  power  comest. 
In  comfort  to  the  humble  ; 
To  Thee  in  the  heavens  be, 
Ever  without  end. 
Eternal  praise. 


76  HYlSm-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

But  the  Saxon  Church,  was  not  left  to  its  own  resources 
merely  for  supplies  to  its  "service  of  song."  Many  a 
choral  chant  and  many  a  grand  old  Latin  hymn  came 
floating  across  the  Channel  from  the  churches  of  Italy  and 
Graul.  England  had  its  schools  of  church  music,  and  dili- 
gently enriched  its  public  devotion  with  the  compositions 
of  Continental  hymnists.  Venantius  Fortunatiis  was  in 
his  prime  during  Grregory's  early  life.  A  monk,  too,  in 
his  later  days,  he  exemplified  the  possibility  of  harmoniz- 
ing literary  freedom  and  cheerful  or  even  light-hearted 
contentment  with  monastic  vows.  He  could  enjoy  many  a 
quiet  laugh  in  his  correspondence  with  saintly  ladies,  and 
yet  furnish  them  with  grand  hymns  to  grace  their  church 
processions.  One  of  these  immortal  productions  was  com- 
posed for  a  special  service,  in  which  Grregory  of  Tours  and 
the  author's  lady  friend  St.  Eadigund  took  a  leading  part. 
It  would  be  sung  as  a  kind  of  spiritual  march,  "  a  song  of 
degrees,"  as  they  moved  with  devout  steps  towards  the 
church  which  was  to  be  consecrated.  The  strain  is  not 
quite  so  simple  and  unpretending  as  some  hj-mns  of  an 
earlier  time,  but  it  has  a  solemn  swell  and  a  subduing 
pathos : — 

The  royal  ensigns  onward  go ; 

The  cross  in  mystic  glory  beams, 
"Where  He  who  made  us  bears  our  woe, 

Our  curse  removes,  our  soul  redeems. 

Where  gushing  life  flows  from  His  side, 
To  wash  our  hearts — a  precious  flood  ; 

Where  deeply  once  the  spear  was  dy'd, 
And  mingling  water  came  with  blood. 

Fulfill' d  is  David's  song  of  old, 

How  David's  Son  and  Lord  is  He 
Who  rules  the  nations,  as  foretold ; 

The  God  who  triumphs  from  the  tree.* 

In  royal  purple  richly  drest, 

O  cross  of  light !     O  tree  of  grace  ! 
Chosen  was  Thy  triumphal  breast, 

For  holy  limbs,  a  resting-place ! 

*  An  allusion  to  Psalm  xcvi.  10,  which,  in  the  Italic  version,  is 
rendered,  "  Tell  it  among  the  heathen  that  the  Lord  reigneth  from 
the  tree." 


HYMNS  OF  OLD  ENGLAND  S  CHRISTIAN  BIKTH-TIME.  /  / 

So  widely  Thy  dear  arms  were  spread, 

The  ransom  of  the  world  to  bear — 
To  pay  the  price  in  sinners'  stead, 

And  spoils  from  our  fell  spoiler  tear. 

From  all  thy  boughs,  0  fragrant  tree, 

Sweetest  of  nectar  sweets  distil. 
And  praises  richly  bloom  on  thee, 

And  fruits  of  peace  thy  branches  fill. 

Hail,  holy  victim !     Hail,  O  life ! 

Who  death  for  sinners  once  endured  ; 
Victoi'ious  from  Thy  passion' s  strife, 

Thy  death  hath  Hfe  for  man  procured  1 

We  can  never  think  of  England's  Christian  birth- time 
without  thinking  of  one  of  her  first  and  holiest  Christian 
children — one  whose  memory  is  now  honoured  under  the 
title  of  the  "Venerable  Bede."  Nor  can  this  nam.e  ever 
cease  to  be  associated  with  Christian  psalmody.  Born, 
about  the  year  672,  near  the  spot  on  which  the  good 
Benedict  Biscop  soon  afterwards  founded  the  Abbey  of 
Wearmouth,  he  became  a  pupil  under  Biscop  when  seven 
years  old,  and  remained  a  devout  brother  of  the  monastery 
of  Wearmouth  until  death.  His  earlier  years  were  spent 
in  the  study,  of  the  Scriptures,  and  in  the  practice  of 
psalmody,  which  formed  a  prominent  part  in  the  daily 
services  of  the  church.  His  taste  for  psalms  and  hymns 
and  holy  music  was  cidtivated  under  the  care  of  John  the 
arch-chanter,  who  had  accompanied  Biscop  from  Eome. 
In  his  nineteenth  year  he  was  made  deacon,  and  at  thirty 
was  ordained  a  priest.  His  life  was  spent  in  tranquil  study, 
earnest  prayer,  and  cheerful  praise.  His  disciple  and 
friend  Cuthbert,  who  witnessed  his  end,  gives  us  the  follow- 
ing beautiful  and  touching  story : — "  He  had  been  laboiu'ing 
under  a  severe  attack  of  difficulty  of  breathing,  yet 
without  pain,  for  nearly  two  weeks  before  the  day  of  our 
Lord's  resurrection;  and  in  this  state  he  continued,  cheei- 
ful  and  rejoicing,  and  giving  thanks  to  Almighty  Grod, 
both  day  and  night,  even  every  hour,  until  ascension  day. 
He  daily  instructed  us  his  disciples,  and  spent  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  in  the  singing  of  psalms,  and  continued  on 
also  during  the  night  in  joy  and  thanksgiving,  except 
when  interrupted  by  a  moderate  sleep.  On  awaking,  he 
returned   to   his   accustomed   occupation,    and   with   out- 


78  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

stretched  hands  ceased  not  to  give  thanks  to  Grod.  He 
was  in  truth  a  blessed  man.  He  chanted  the  passage  from 
St.  Paul,  '  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  living  Grod; '  and  many  other  passages  of  Holy  Writ, 
in  which  he  admonished  us  to  rise  from  the  sleep  of  the 
soul  hj^  anticipating  the  last  hour.  And  being  skilled  in 
our  poetry,  he  thus  spoke  in  the  Saxon  language  of  the 
awful  departure  of  the  soul  from  the  body : — 

Before  the  need-fare 

No  man  becometh 

Of  thought  more  prudent 

Than  is  needful  to  him 

To  consider 

Before  his  departure 

What,  to  his  spirit, 

Of  good  or  evil 

After  his  death-daj^ 

Will  be  adjudg-ed. 

He  also  sang  anthems,  as  well  for  our  consolation  as  his 
own,  one  of  which  was  the  following  : — 

O  King  of  glory, 

God  of  might. 

Who  didst  ascend  to-day, 

In  triumph  above  all  heavens. 

Leave  us  not  orphans. 

But  send  upon  us 

The  promise  of  the  Father, 

The  Spirit  of  truth. 

Hallelujah! 

And  when  he  came  to  the  words,  '  Leave  us  not  orphans,' 
he  burst  into  tears,  and  wept  much ;  and,  after  the  space 
of  an  hour,  he  resumed  the  repetition  of  what  he  had 
beo-uu.  As  we  heard,  we  wept  along  with  him;  one  while 
we  read,  another  while  we  wept ;  and  our  reading  was 
always  mingled  with  tears.  In  such  kind  of  joy  as  this 
we  passed  the  days  between  Easter,  and  up  to  the  day 
which  I  have  mentioned  ;  and  he  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and 
thanked  Grod,  who  had  thought  him  worthy  of  suffering  .... 
In  addition  to  the  lessons  we  received  from  him,  and  the 
sino-ing  of  psalms,  he  strove  all  this  time  to  finish  two 
very  important  works — the  Grospel  of  St.  John,  which  he 
was  translating  into  Saxon  for  the  use  of  the  Church,  and 


IIYMK^S  OF  OLD  ENGLAND  S  CHRISTIAN"  BIRTH-TIME.  /  9 

certain  extracts  from  the  Looks  of  the  Eotee  of  St.  Isidore. 
'Learn  quickly,'  he  would  say,  'for  I  know  not  how 
long  I  may  abide,  nor  how  soon  He  who  created  me  may 
take  me  away.'  One  of  lis  remained  with  him  one  day, 
and  said,  '  Dearly  beloved  master,  one  chapter  is  still 
wanting ;  and  it  appears  to  be  painful  to  you  that  I  should 
ask  any  further  cpiestions.'  But  he  said,  '  It  does  not 
trouble  me ;  take  your  pen,  and  be  attentive,  and  write 
quickly.'  At  the  ninth  hour  he  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
all  the  presbyters,  that  he  might  admonish  them,  and  dis- 
tribute a  few  gifts  among  them.  They  all  mourned  or 
wept,  chiefly  because  he  told  them  that  they  should  no 
longer  see  his  face  in  the  world ;  but  they  rejoiced  when 
he  said,  '  It  is  time  that  I  returned  to  Him  who  made  me, 
who  created  me,  and  formed  me  out  of  nothing.  I  have 
had  a  long  life  upon  the  earth ;  the  merciful  Judge  has 
also  been  pleased  to  ordain  for  me  a  happy  life.  The  time 
of  my  departure  is  at  hand,  for  I  have  a  clesire  to  depart, 
and  to  be  with  Christ.'  And  with  many  such  like  remarks 
he  passed  the  day  until  eventide  ;  then  the  boy  whom  we 
have  already  mentioned  said  to  him,  '  Still  one  sentence, 
dear  master,  remains  unwritten.'  He  replied,  '  Write 
quickly ! '  After  a  little  while  the  boy  said,  '  Now  the 
sentence  is  finished. '  He  answered,  '  You  have  spoken 
the  truth ;  it  is  indeed  finished.  Raise  my  head  in  your 
hands,  for  it  pleases  me  much  to  recline  opposite  to  that 
holy  place  of  mine  in  which  I  used  to  pray,  so  that,  while 
resting  there,  I  may  call  upon  Grod  my  Father.'  And 
being  placed  upon  the  pavement  of  his  cell,  he  said, 
'  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy 
Grhost !  '  and  as  soon  as  he  had  named  the  name  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  he  breathe  out  his  own  spirit,  and  so  de- 
parted to  the  kingdom  oi  heaven."  Blessed  man  !  he  has 
followed 

The  Saviour's  pathway  to  his  home  above. 

And  while  we  linger  around  the  scene  of  his  departure, 
we  catch  the  music  of  that  divine  "Ascension  hymn"  of 
his,  in  which  he  used  to  express  the  longing  of  his  soul  in 
its  upward  gaze  after  the  ascending  Lord  : — 

A  hymn  of  glory  let  ixs  sing ; 

New  hjonns  throughout  the  wond  shall  ring ; 


80  HYMN- WRITERS  A^^)  THEIR  HYMXS. 

By  a  new  way  none  ever  trod, 

Christ  mountetli  to  the  throne  of  God. 

The  apostles  on  the  mountain  stand — 
The  mystic  mount  in  Holy  Land ; 
Thej",  with  the  Virgin  Mother,  see 
Jesus  ascend  in  majesty. 

The  angels  say  to  the  eleven, 
"  Why  staud  ye  gazing  into  heaven  ? 
This  is  the  Saviour — this  is  He  I 
Jesus  hath  triumph' d  gloriously !  " 

They  said  the  Lord  should  come  again, 
As  these  beheld  Him  rising  then, 
Calm  soaring  through  the  radiant  sky, 
Mounting  its  dazzling  summits  high. 

May  our  affections  thither  tend, 
And  thither  constantly  ascend. 
When,  seated  on  the  Father's  throne, 
Thee,  reigning  in  the  heavens,  we  own  I 

Be  Thou  our  present  joy,  0  Lord, 
Who  wilt  be  ever  our  reward ; 
And  as  the  countless  ages  flee, 
May  all  our  glory  be  in  Thee ! 

In  this  tymn,  as  well  as  in  tlie  other  fragments  which, 
have  come  to  us  from  the  venerable  Bede,  there  is  the  h.oly 
familiarity  with  the  historical  parts  of  the  New  Testament, 
and  the  same  simple  and  devout  pleasure  in  them  which 
distinguish  most  of  the  earlier  hymns  of  the  Christian 
Church.  Bede,  too,  keeps  up  that  fixed  adoring  gaze 
upon  the  divine  objects  of  faith,  and  that  deejjly  reverent 
3^et  jubilant  feeling  of  devotion  which  give  the  songs  of 
Christianity's  first  love  the  secret  of  their  beauty  and  life. 
In  him,  also,  there  is  sometimes  that  tender  sympathy 
with  infancy  and  youth  which  is  so  often  associated  with 
pure  heaveuliness  of  spirit  in  the  trvily  primitive  Christian 
Fathers.  This  feeling  breathes  sweetly  in  his  hymn  "  for 
the  Holy  Innocents  :  " — 

Raise  the  conquering  martyr's  song  ; 
Song  of  the  Victor  Innocents ; 
Outcasts  from  tli'  unholy  throng, 
Niunber'd  now  with  heaven's  saints  ; 
Those  whose  angels  see  God's  face. 
Pour  unceasing  shouts  along  ; 
While  they  ever  hjonn  His  grace, 
Raise  the  conquering  martyr's  song  I 


HYMNS  OF  OLD  ENGLAND'S  CHRISTIAN  BIETH-TIME.  81 

By  that  cursed  ruler  slain  ; 

By  their  loving  Maker  crowned ; 

Sorrowless  with  Him  to  reign, 

Where  beautj^,  light,  and  peace  abound. 

There  He  gives  them  mansions  all ; 

They  have  changed  their  loss  for  gain  ; 

In  their  heavenly  Father's  hall, 

By  that  cui'sed  ruler  slain. 

A  wailing  voice  in  Eamah  rose, 

From  weeping  mothers  all  forlorn ; 

Sad  Rachel  mourned  her  children's  woes, 

Her  victim  babes,  for  murder  born. 

Now  their  triumph  is  complete  ; 

XJnconquered  by  tormenting  foes ; 

Though  once  from  homes,  and  fields,  and  street, 

A  wailing  voice  in  Eamah  rose. 

Blest  little  flock,  no  longer  fear 
The  lion  that  prey'd  on  your  life. 
For  now  your  heav'nly  Shepherd  dear 
Gives  pastures  never  scath'd  by  strife: 
On  Sion's  hill  now  dwelling  safe. 
The  footprints  of  the  Lamb  are  clear ; 
No  tyrant  there  your  souls  will  chafe, 
Blest  little  flock,  no  longer  fear. 

The  tear  is  wiped  from  every  eye 
By  His,  your  tender  Father's,  hand ; 
No  harm  of  death  is  ever  nigh, 
Wliere  life  breathes  o'er  the  happy  land. 
Who  sow  in  tears,  in  joy  shall  reap  ; 
Their  harvest-home  is  found  on  high ; 
The  light  of  heav'n  sees  no  one  weep ; 
The  tear  is  wiped  from  every  eye. 

A  city  blest  through  all  the  earth. 
With  martyr's'  triumphs,  martyrs'  love ; 
Thy  boast  is  in  thy  Saviour's  birth, 
which  gives  thee  greatness  far  above 
ALL  cities  that  would  count  thee  small, 
Or  rival  thee  in  pride  or  mirth  ; 
Thy  holy  claim  surpasses  all, 
O  city  blest  through  all  the  earth ! 

That  venerable  hymnist,  wlio  thus  supplied  the  choir 
with  appropriate  means  of  celebrating  the  day  of  ' '  Holy 
Innocents,"  quotes  from  other  hymnists  here  and  there — 
hymuists  whose  names,  it  may  be,  we  shall  never  know  in 
this  world,  but  whose  hymns  seem  to  have  been  familiar  to 
Bede,  and  were  probably  used  in  the  English  Church  in 

F 


82  HTMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

that  its  Christian  Lirtli-time.  Of  these,  one  is  a  fine  old 
judgment  hymn,  which,  as  Dr.  Neale  observes,  manifestly 
contains  the  germ  of  the  Dies  Ira,  to  which,  however  inferior 
in  lyric  fervour  and  effect,  it  scarcely  yields  in  devotion  and 
simple  realization  of  its  subject: — 

That  great  day  of  wrath  is  coming, 

Day  of  doom  and  final  woe  ; 
Like  a  midnight  robber  breaking 

On  the  sons  of  men  below  ; 
When  the  world's  proud  life  is  over. 

All  her  pomp  of  ages  pass'd. 
And  her  cliildren  stand  in  anguish, 

That  the  end  is  come  at  last; 
And  the  blast  of  that  loud  trumpet, 

Through  earth's  quarters  pealing  dread, 
Louder  and  yet  louder  waxing. 

Calls  together  quick  and  dead; 
And  the  glorious  King  appearing 

On  His  throne  so  high  and  white, 
And  His  holy  bands  of  angels 

Wait  within  His  circling  light ; 
And  the  sun,  like  sackcloth  darkling. 

And  the  moon  a  bloody  red, 
And  the  stars  from  heaven  falling, 

As  untimely  figs  are  shed ; 
Tempests,  fires,  and  desolation 

Tore  the  Judge's  footsteps  go  ; 
Earth  and  sea,  all  life's  abysses. 

Shall  his  final  sentence  know. 


Wlierefore  man,  while  judgment  lingers, 

riy  the  dragon's  charm  of  sin  ; 
And  with  bread  supply  the  needy. 

If  thou  would' st  thy  heaven  win ; 
Gird  thy  loins,  be  up  and  ready. 

Heart  all  pure,  and  conscience  right ; 
Let  the  Bridegroom,  when  He  cometh, 

Eind  thy  lamp-flame  clear  and  bright. 

Who  does  not  wish  to  realize  oneness  with  those  who 
used  to  sing  such  hymns  ?  In  many  respects  mere  trans- 
lations are  defective,  but  in  this  case  they  may  be  so  far  in 
the  spirit  and  manner  of  the  originals  as  to  show  us  that 
the  early  English  Christians  really  learnt  to  "admonish  one 
another  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  sjjiritual  songs." 

England,  however,  may  be  said  to  have  had  a  second 
Christian  birth-time,  when  she  was  saved  from  the  dark- 


HYiixs  OF  OLD  England's  ohristian  bieth-time.       83 

ness  and  corruption  wliicli  for  many  centuries,  in  her  later 
history,  had  been  enclosing  and  oppressing  her  Christian 
life,  when  in  all  her  sanctuaries  she  might  have  sung  one 
of  her  own  bishop's  hymns  : — 

Hence  in  Thy  trutli  Thy  Church  delights, 

From  all  corruptions  freed; 
Unblemish'd  worship,  spotless  rites, 

And  unadulterate  creed : 
Hence  Thy  pure  words  her  children  lead 

To  speak  the  united  prayer. 
Their  Saviour's  name  alone  to  plead, 

His  cup  of  blessing  share. 

0  God,  whose  love,  our  country's  guides, 

Once  nerved  with  courage  strong, 
And  still  o'er  us,  their  sons,  presides, 

Accept  our  grateful  song. 
And  oh,  the  truth,  revived  among 

Our  sires  from  times  of  old, 
Do  Thou  to  future  times  prolong, 

And  grant  our  sons  to  hold ! 

The  process  of  England's  Christian  renewal  was  some- 
what slow ;  beginning  amidst  the  changes  under  Henry 
VIII.,  and  unfolding  its  first  definite  results  as  the  claims 
of  the  Stuart  dynasty  yielded  to  the  rights  of  conscience 
and  of  law.  The  seventeenth  century  may  be  called  the 
age  of  England's  renovation,  and  the  period  was  marked 
by  a  quickening  in  every  department  of  public  life.  Every 
sphere  of  science,  literature,  arts,  and  religion  was  adorned 
with  the  most  illustrious  talent,  learning  and  genius.  Nor 
was  the  age  wanting  in  poets  whose  hallowed  powers  were 
given  to  Him  whose  grace  had  inspired  the  new  Christian 
life.  Psalms  and  hymns  broke  forth  then,  as  well  as  in 
the  earlier  times  of  deliverance.  The  hymns  were  not  per- 
haps so  simple,  so  childlike ;  their  manner  and  style  had 
more  of  the  artificial ;  and,  like  the  times  which  gave  them 
birth,  they  had  too  many  elaborated  conceits,  and  quaint 
tiu'ns  of  thought  and  expression ;  still,  they  had  their  dis- 
tinctive beauty,  and  were  quite  eqvial  in  spirituality,  and 
cheerfulness,  and  warmth.  Among  other  hymnists  of  the  age 
there  was  Erancis  Quarles.  Who  can  forget  him  ?  He  was 
* '  the  darling  of  our  plebeian  judgment  s, "  as  Milton's  nephew, 
Phillips,  called  him,  with  a  kind  of  prophetic  insight  into 


84  HYMN- WRITERS  AK'D  THEIR  HYMNS. 

the  unfailing  popularity  of  "  Quarles' Divine  Emblems," 
in  the  cottage  homes  of  his  country.  Born  in  Essex  in 
1592,  Quarles  was  by  and  by  known  among  the  Cambridge 
scholars,  then  respected  as  a  student  in  Lincoln's  Inn  ; 
and  then,  by  turns,  he  acted  as  cupbearer  to  a  ro^'al  h3'mnist, 
Elizabeth  of  Bohemia,  as  secretary  to  Ai'chbishop  Usher, 
and  as  chronologer  to  the  City  of  London.  Amidst  all  the 
activities  of  his  busy  aud  public  life  his  poetic  genius  was 
kept  in  full  play;  ever  and  anon  giving  to  the  world  either  a 
"Job  Militant,"  or  a  "Feast  of  Worms,"  or  "  Sion's 
Elegies,"  or  the  fruits  of  "the  Morning  Muse."  The  good 
man,  however,  like  many  of  his  fellows,  suffered  so  much 
from  the  strife  of  parties  that  he  fell  a  victim  to  sorrow  at 
the  age  of  fifty-two.  His  "Emblems"  have  enriched  the 
thoughts  of  many  a  peasant ;  but  peasant  and  prince  alike 
may  enjoy  his  noble  hymn  on  "  Delight  in  Grod  Only." 

I  love  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the  eartli : 
She  is  my  Maker's  creature ;  therefore  good  : 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  m^e  birth ; 
She  is  my  tender  mu'se — she  gives  me  food ; 

But  what's  a  creatiu-e,  Lord,  compared  with  Thee  ? 

Or  "what's  my  mother,  or  my  nurse  to  me  ':' 

I  love  the  air  :  her  daily  sweets  refresh 

My  drooping  sovil,  aud  to  new  sweets  invite  me  ; 

Her  shrill-mouth'd  quire  siistains  me  with  their  flesh, 

And  with  their  polyijhonian  notes  delight  me  ; 
But  what's  the  air,  or  all  the  sweets  that  she 
Can  bless  my  soul  withal,  compared  to  Thee  ? 

I  love  the  sea :  she  is  my  fellow  creature, 
My  careful  purveyor ;  she  provides  me  store  ; 
She  walls  me  round ;  she  makes  my  diet  greater  ; 
She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  shore  : 

But,  Lord  of  oceans,  when  compared  with  Thee, 

What  is  the  ocean,  or  her  wealth  to  me  ? 

To  heaven's  high  city  I  direct  my  joui'ney, 
Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertain  my  eye, 
Mine  eye,  by  contemplations  great  attorney. 
Transcends  the  crystal  pavement  of  the  sky  : 

But  what  is  heaven,  great  God,  comijared  to  Thee  ? 

Without  Thy  presence  heaven's  no  heaven  to  me. 

Without  Thy  presence  earth  gives  no  refection  ; 
Without  Thy  presence  sea  affords  no  treasure  ; 


HYMN'S  OF  OLD  ENGLAND'S  CHRISTIAN  BIRTH-TIME.  85 

Without  Thy  presence  air's  a  rank  infection  ; 

Without  Thy  presence  heaven  itself  no  pleasure  ; 
If  not  possess' d,  if  not  enjoy'd  in  Thee, 
"V^^lat  's  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  or  heaven  to  me  ? 

The  highest  honours  that  the  world  can  boast, 

Are  subjects  far  too  low  for  my  desire ; 

The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are  (at  most) 

But  d;sdng-  sj^arkles  of  Thy  living-  fire  : 

The  loudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle,  be 
But  mighty  glow-worms,  if  compared  to  Thee. 

Without  Thy  presence  wealth  is  bags  of  cares  ; 

Wisdom  but  folly  ;  joy  disquiet  sadness  : 

Friendship  is  treason,  and  delights  are  snares  ; 

Pleasures  but  pain,  and  mirth  but  pleasing  madness  ; 
Without  Thee,  Lord,  things  be  not  what  they  be, 
Nor  have  they  being  when  compared  with  Thee. 

In  having  all  things,  and  not  Thee,  what  have  I  ? 
Not  having  Thee,  what  have  my  labours  got  ? 
Let  me  enjoy  but  Thee,  what  further  crave  I  ? 
And  having  Thee  alone,  what  have  I  not? 
I  wish  nor  sea  nor  land ;  nor  would  I  be, 
_  Possess' d  of  heaven,  heaven  unijossess'd  of  Thee. 


CHAPTEE  yil. 

HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS. 


'•  Tlie  wilderness  and  the  solitaiy  place  shall  be  glad  for  them;  and  the 
desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  It  shall  blossom  abundantly, 
and  rejoice  even  with  joy  and  singing. 

Have  you  learned  to  bless  tlie  name  of  Jesus  from  the 
depth  of  a  loving  heart  ?  Then,  at  times,  you  have  been 
sweetly  touched  or  strangely  warmed,  while  trying  to 
realize  communion  with  all  that  is  holy  in  the  past,  as  you 
caught  the  music  of  a  hj'mn  coming,  now  but  faintly,  and 
now  in  swelling  fervent  tones  from  successive  generations 
of  the  faithful.  Listen  !  Do  you  know  the  gracious  heart- 
felt verses  ? 

Jesus,  the  only  thought  of  Thee, 

"With  sweetness  fills  my  breast ; 
But  sweeter  far  it  is  to  see, 

And  on  Thy  beauty  feast. 

No  sound,  no  harmony  so  gay, 

Can  art,  or  music  frame  : 
No  thought  can  reach,  no  words  can  say, 

The  sweebs  of  Thy  bless' d  name. 

Jesus,  our  hoiDe,  when  we  repent. 

Sweet  source  of  all  our  grace  ; 
Sole  comfort  in  our  banishment ; 

0  !  what  when  face  to  face ! 

Jesus !  that  name  inspires  my  mind 

With  springs  of  life  and  light, 
Moi-e  than  I  ask  in  Thee  I  find, 

And  lavish  in  delight. 


HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  87 

Nor  art  or  eloquence  of  man 

Can  tell  the  joys  of  love ; 
Only  the  saints  can  understand, 

What  they  in  Jesus  prove. 

Thee,  then  I'll  seek,  retired  apart 

From  world  and  business  free  ; 
When  these  shall  knock,  I'll  shut  my  heart. 

And  keep  it  all  for  Thee. 

Before  the  morning  light  I'll  come, 

With  Magdalen  to  find, 
In  sighs  and  tears,  my  Jesus'  tomb, 

And  there  refresh  my  mind. 

My  tears  upon  His  grave  shall  flow, 

My  sighs  the  garden  fill ; 
Then  at  His  feet  myself  I'll  throw, 

And  there  I'll  seek  His  will. 

Jesxs,  in  Thy  bless'd  steps  I'll  tread. 

And  walk  in  all  Thy  ways ; 
I'll  never  cease  to  weep  and  plead, 

Till  I'm  restored  to  grace. 

O  King  of  love,  Thy  blessed  fire. 

Does  such  sweet  flames  excite. 
That  first  it  raises  the  desire, 

Then  fills  it  with  delight. 

Thy  lovely  presence  shines  so  clear 

Thro'  every  sense  and  way. 
That  souls  which  once  have  seen  Thee  near. 

See  all  things  else  decay. 

Come  then,  dear  Lord,  possess  my  heart, 

Chase  thence  the  shades  of  night ; 
Bid  all  but  perfect  love  depart, 

Before  Thy  shining  light. 

Thy  name  I  then  will  ever  sing. 

And  with  Thy  saints  rejoice  ; 
My  heart  shall  own  Thee  as  its  king. 

Midst  never-ending  joys. 

From  whence  did  tMs  song  arise  ?  Who  first  sang  it  ? 
Let  us  seek  its  birthplace  in  a  manj-storied  land.  In  one  of 
the  eastern  departments  of  France,  not  far  from  the  source 
of  the  Seine,  and  on  the  banks  of  tlie  tranquil  Saone,  we 
should  be  far  away  from  commercial  bustle  and  mechanical 
strife,  in  a  region  where  a  simple  and  quiet  husbandry  is 


00  nyMX-"vriiiTEES  axd  their  hymns. 

content,  without  the  aid  of  science  ;  -where  the  multiplied 
subdivisions  of  the  fruitful  soil,  Trild  and  neglected  tracts, 
UTid  a  population  of  unaspiring  cultivators  would  scarcely 
seem  to  witness  of  an  illustrious  past.  Nevertheless,  we 
should  find  ourselves  surrounded  by  monuments  of  former 
splendour.  There  are  ancient  tokens  of  lordly  jiride  and 
martial  power,  footprints  of  bright  intellect,  hallowed 
learning,  religious  mystery,  saintly  thought,  and  heavenly 
devotion.  There  are  remnants  of  old  cities,  and  castles, 
and  abbeys,  with  garden  grounds,  and  vine-covered  slopes, 
and  verdant  hills ;  indeed,  enough  in  nature,  and  still 
enough  of  art  to  show  that  old  Burgund^^  was  "  a  land  of 
corn  and  wine,"  in  appearance,  and  resources,  and  fruitful- 
ness,  verily  the  "  golden  land."  There,  in  a  forest  valley, 
within  a  recess  adorned  with  interwoven  flowers,  and  over- 
shadowed by  primitive  oaks  and  beeches,  somewhat  more 
than  seven  centuries  ago,  heaven  first  heard  the  music  of 
our  hymn  to  "  the  sweet  memory  of  Jesus."  It  arose  from 
the  sanctified  heart  and  lips  of  Bernard,  deservedly 
honoured  as  St.  Bernard,  the  "  mellifluous  doctor."  He 
was  a  monk  ;  but,  though  a  monk,  he  was  never  what  one 
prejudiced  biographer  supposed  that,  as  a  monk,  he  must 
necessarily  be,  "a  turbulent  and  hot-headed  fanatic."  No; 
Bei-nard  was  a  saintly  man.  He  was  not  "  above  his 
Master."  It  was  enough  for  him  that  "  the  disciple  be  as  his 
Master";  and  there  had  been  those  who  said  of  his  Master, 
*'  He  hath  a  devil  and  is  mad."  But  who  could  sing  of 
Jesus  as  Bernard  did,  unless  he  was  ruled  by  "  the  love  of 
Christ"?  The  monastery  in  Bernard's  day  was  the  only 
home  for  such  high-toned  piety  as  his.  He  had  scarcely 
passed  into  mature  manhood  when  he  was  elected  as  the 
leader  of  twelve  recluses,  who,  with  himself,  were  devoted 
to  the  work  of  foimding  a  new  religious  community  in  the 
desert.  Their  chief  design  was  to  save  themselves  and 
the  souls  of  the  people  among  whom  they  exercised  their 
itinerant  ministry- ;  but  the}'  were  also  bent  upon  toiling 
until  "the  land  that  was  desolate  was  become  like  the 
Garden  of  Eden."  They  were  among  the  first  "model 
farmers  "  of  Europe.  And  though  they  may  not  be  classed 
with  the  "  genial  fraternities  "  whose  names  still  mark  the 
most  distinguished  vineyards  of  modern  times,  they  share 
the  honour  of  those  labourers  who  first  broke  the  soil  of 


HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  89 

our  -n-estern  -wastes,  and  taug-lit  it  to  unfold  its  resources 
so  as  to  meet  the  advancing  claims  of  modern  civilization. 
Bernard  found  a  spot  within  a  pathless  forest,  haunted  by 
robbers,  and  dreaded  as  the  "valley  of  wormwood  " ;  and 
there  he  and  his  companions  began  their  task  with  cheer- 
ful courage,  and  worked,  now  in  a  devotional  silence,  and 
now,  with  chant  and  psalmody,  literally  speaking  to  them- 
selves and  answering  one  another,  "in  psalms,  and  hymns, 
and  spiritual  songs,"  till  "the  valley  of  wormwood"  be- 
came Clairvaux,  "the  bright  valley";  and  the  fruitful 
little  church  in  the  desert  might  rejoice  in  the  fulfilment 
of  the  promise,  "I  will  give  her  her  vineyards  from  thence, 
and  the  valley  of  Achor  for  a  door  of  hope  ;  and  she  shall 
sing  there  as  in  the  daj-s  of  her  j'outh,  and  as  in  the  day 
when  she  came  up  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt."  It  was 
amidst  the  toils  and  songs,  the  prayers  and  chants  of  that 
valley  that  the  character  of  Bernard  attained  its  maturity 
of  Christian  manliness.  There  his  character  seemed  to 
perfect  its  balance,  and  to  show  how  unearthliness  and 
tender  humanity,  the  contemplative  and  the  practical,  the 
severe  and  the  gentle,  the  strict  and  the  free,  the  frugal 
and  the  generous,  the  truthful,  the  wise,  and  the  loving, 
could  all  harmonize  in  blessing  the  existing  generation,  and 
in  shedding  balmy  lessons  on  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
following  ages.  How  much  Bernard  owed  to  his  mother! 
and  how  often  when  his  name  occurs  do  we  think  of  Han- 
nah and  the  child  of  her  many  prayers.  Hannah's  inspired 
joy  as  a  mother  gave  holy  song  to  the  "church  through- 
out all  the  world  "  ;  and  the  prayers  of  the  Lady  Aletta 
for  her  boy  who  first  saw  the  light  in  a.d.  1091,  under  the 
vine  slopes  of  Cote  d'Or,  had  their  full  answer  in  the 
jubilant  piety  and  songful  life  of  her  converted  Bernard. 
She  prayed  that  he  might  be  a  monk  ;  believing  that  such  a 
life  was  best  for  his  soul ;  and  what  she  praj^ed  for,  her 
well- trained  child  was  brought  to  enjoy.  Like  Hannah, 
she  had  "  lent  him  to  the  Lord,"  and  like  Hannah's  son  he 
found  the  joy  of  his  life  in  the  "  Beautj^  of  Holiness."  His 
mother's  death-chamber  was  to  him  the  birthplace  of  a  new 
life.  Aletta  wished  to  depart  with  the  chant  of  a  litany  on  her 
ears.  She  lived  to  catch  the  touching  appeal,  "By  thy 
cross  and  passion,"  and  her  last  words  were  the  response, 
"  Good  Lord  deliver  us  !  "     She  was  gone  to  her  rest ;  her 


90  HYMN-'WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

works  of  piety  and  charity  follow  her ;  but  her  boy  was 
left  to  record  the  hour  of  her  departure  as  the  turning 
point  of  his  own  life.  He  had  lost  his  mother,  but  Jesus 
her  Saviour  was  now  his  own ;  and  with  the  hallowed 
memory  of  Aletta's  final  hour  still  touching  his  soul,  he 
breathed  his  hymn  of  appeal  to  Christ — 

When  my  dying'  hour  must  be, 
Be  not  absent  then  from  m.e ; 
In  that  dreadful  hour,  I  pray, 
Jesus,  come  without  delay, 

See  and  set  me  free  ! 
When  Thou  biddest  me  depart, 
Whom  I  cleave  to  with  my  heart, 
Lover  of  my  soul  be  near. 
With  Thy  saving  cross  appear, 

Show  Thyself  to  me ! 

The  character  of  Bernard  was  a  faithful  mirror  of  his 
times.  The  crusade  against  the  "  infidel,"  and  the  rescue 
of  his  own  countrymen's  souls  from  sin,  both  engaged  his 
burning  zeal  and  eff'ective  eloquence  and  prayers.  He 
advocated  a  high  spiritual  standard  of  Romanism.  He 
entered  the  controversial  lists  against  scejotical  Churchmen 
and  fashionable  heresies ;  but  whatever  he  did,  he  did  it 
"to  the  Lord,"  and  did  it  with  all  his  heart.  It  is  most 
pleasant,  however,  to  commune  with  him  as  the  expositor 
of  evangelical  truth,  and  the  tender,  ardent,  and  spiritual 
hymnologist  of  the  universal  Church,  We  love  him  for 
his  warm  and  spirited,  but  reverent,  testimony  for  Christ, 
especially  in  his  atoning  work  ;  but  how  all  our  powers  and 
feelings  harmonize  in  choral  service,  when  his  theme  of 
Clmstian  controversy  glows  and  kindles  into  song ! 
Where  is  the  Christian  heart  that  is  not  ready  to  sing  with 
him? — 

Fix,  oh,  fix  each  crimson  wound, 
And  those  nail-prints  so  profound, 
In  my  heart  engrave  them  fully, 
That  I  may  grow  like  Thee  wholly, 

Jesus,  Saviour,  sweet ! 
Pitying  God,  to  Thee  I  cry. 
Guilty  at  Thy  feet  Hie; 
Oh !  be  merciful  to  me, 
Nor  bid  me,  unworthy,  flee 

From  Thy  sacred  feet ! 


HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  91 

Prostrate,  see  Thy  cross  I  grasp, 
And  Thy  pierced  feet  I  clasp  ; 
Gi'acious  Jesus,  spurn  me  not ; 
On  me,  with  compassion  fraught, 

Let  Thy  g-lances  fall. 
!Frona  Thy  cross  of  agony. 
My  beloved,  look  on  me  ; 
Turn  me  wholly  unto  Thee  ; 
"  Be  thou  whole,"  say  openly ; 

"  I  forgive  thee  all." 


Of  all  the  men  of  his  time,  he  seems  to  have  had  the 
deepest  insight  into  St.  Paul's  spirit  and  views  ;  and  he 
richly  exemplified  the  connexion  bet^^een  right  views  of 
the  cross  and  genuine  zeal  for  the  Church  and  the  salva- 
tion of  the  world.  His  recorded  views  of  the  atonement 
show  that  he  kept  his  acute  intellect  attuned  to  his  sub- 
dued will  and  high-toned  affections,  while  they  afford  us 
an  insight  into  the  secret  of  his  deep  feeling  and  power  as 
a  leader  in  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  chants  in  praise  of 
Christ.  "We  cannot  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  Divine 
will,"  says  he  ;  "  yet  we  can  feel  the  effect  of  the  (atoning) 
work,  we  can  be  sensible  of  the  benefit.  Why  did  He 
accomiilish  that  by  His  blood  which  He  might  have  accom- 
plished by  a  word  ?  Ask  Himself  ?  It  is  vouchsafed  to 
me  to  know  that  the  fact  is  so,  but  not  the  ivherefore.  .  .  . 
It  was  not  the  death  of  Christ  in  itself,  but  the  will  of  Him 
who  freely  offered  Himself,  that  was  acceptable  to  God ; 
and  because  this  precious  death,  procuring  the  downfall  of 
sin,  could  only  be  brought  about  by  sin,  so  God  had  no 
pleasure  in  the  sin,  but  used  it  for  good.  God  did  not  only 
require  the  death  of  His  Son,  but  accepted  it  when  offered. 
He  did  not  thirst  for  man's  blood,  but  for  man's  salvation. 
.  .  .  .  Three  things  here  meet  together— the  humility 
of  self-renunciation  ;  the  manifestation  of  love,  even  to  the 
death  of  the  cross ;  the  mystery  of  redemption,  whereby 
He  overcame  death.  The  two  former  facts  are  nothing 
without  the  third.  The  examples  of  humility  and  love  are 
something  great,  but  have  no  firm  foundation  without  the 
redemption."  .  Some  of  Bernard's  first  converts  were  his 
own  father,  and  brothers,  and  personal  friends.  Like 
Andrew,  "he  first  found  his  oicm,  and  brought  them  to 
Jesus."     He  closed  his  father's  eyes  in  peace  and  hope, 


92  IIYMN-WEITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

and  then  he  saw  his  best-beloved  brother,  Gerard,  take  his 
flight  into  eternal  life.  What  a  touching  memorial  he  has 
bequeathed  to  us  of  the  last  scene  !  It  is  like  a  jilfiintive 
parting  hymn,  having  all  poetic  beauty  and  pathos  in  the 
form  of  prose.  "Who  could  ever  have  loved  me  as  he 
did  ?  He  was  a  brother  by  blood,  but  far  more  by  reli- 
gion  God   grant,    Gerard,   I  may  not   have 

lost  thee,  but  that  thou  hast  preceded  me ;  for  of  a  suretj'^ 
thou  hast  joined  those  whom,  in  thy  last  night  below, 
thou  didst  invite  to  praise  God,  when  suddenly,  to  the 
great  siirprise  of  all,  thou,  with  a  serene  countenance  and 
a  cheerful  voice,  didst  commence  chanting,  *  Praise  ye  the 
Lord  from  the  heaven ;  praise  Him,  all  ye  angels  ! '  At 
that  moment,  0  my  brother,  the  day  dawned  on  thee, 
though  it  was  night  to  us ;  the  night  to  thee  was  all 
brightness.  .  .  .  Just  as  I  reached  his  side,  I  heard 
him  utter  aloiid  those  words  of  Christ,  '  Father,  into  Thine 
hands  I  commend  my  spirit ! '  Then  repeating  the  verse 
over  again,  and  resting  on  the  word  '  Father  ! '  '  Father  ! ' 
he  turned  to  me,  and,  smiling,  said,  '  Oh,  how  gracious  of 
God  to  be  the  Father  of  men,  and  what  an  honour  for  men 
to  be  His  children  !  '  And  then,  very  distinctly,  '  If  chil- 
dren, then  heirs.'  And  so  he  died;  and  so  dying,  he  well 
nigh  changed  my  grief  into  rejoicing,  so  completely  did 
the  sight  of  his  happiness  overpower  the  recollection  of  my 
own  misery.  ...  0  Lord,  Thou  hast  but  called  for 
Thine  own.  Thou  hast  but  taken  what  belonged  to  Thee! 
And  now  my  tears  put  an  end  to  my  words,  I  pray  thee 
teach  me  to  put  an  end  to  my  tears!"  By  and  by 
Bernard's  own  call  was  come.  He  had  Kved  as  a  witness 
for  tne  truth.  He  had  taught  his  neighbours  to  be  indus- 
trious, and  holy,  and  happy.  He  had  preached  Christ  as 
the  life  and  soul  of  the  "  Song  of  songs."  He  had  helped 
to  brighten  and  enrich  the  aspect  of  his  native  land.  He 
had  gathered  many  a  family  of  spiritual  children,  had  led 
his  own  household  to  the  Saviour,  and  now,  having  spent  his 
little  remaining  strength  in  the  work  of  a  "peace-maker," 
he  found  his  reward,  and  passed  into  the  ' '  kingdom  of 
heaven."  He  departed  exhorting  his  weeping  friends  to 
"  abound  more  and  more  in  every  good  work,"  and  mur- 
muring, as  his  last  sentence  on  earth,  ' '  I  am  in  a  strait 
betwixt  two,  having  a  desire  to  depart  and  to  be  with 


HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  93 

Christ,    which   is   far   better!"      Happy   Bernard!     His 
Eedeemer  had  given  the  full  response  to  his  hymn — 

Let  me  true  coraniiuiion  know 
With  Thee  in  Thy  sacred  -woe, 
Counting  all  beside  but  dross, 
Dying-  with  Thee  on  Thy  cross  ; — 

'Neath  it  will  I  die  ! 
Thanks  to  Thee,  with  every  breath, 
Jesus,  for  Thy  bitter  death  ; 
Grant  Thy  guilty  one  this  prayer, 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near, 

Gracious  God,  be  nigh ! 

Old  Burgundy  was  verily  the  "golden  land;"  for  it 
found  a  cloistered  home  for  a  second  Bernard — a  monk 
likewise,  and  contemporary  with  the  saint;  one  who,  from 
the  fulness  of  his  gifted  and  consecrated  soul,  gave  birth 
to  that  "thing  of  beauty,"  the  hymn  now  so  widely  known 
as  "  Jerusalem  the  Grolden."  Two  such  hymnists,  in  the 
same  province,  in  the  same  time,  and  of  the  same  name, 
and  saints  both,  may  well  be  confounded,  as  they  have 
sometimes  been,  by  people  who  are  more  equal  to  the  joy 
of  singing  their  hymns  than  to  the  pains  of  exploring  the 
old  cloisters  in  which  they  wrote  them.  Bernard  of  Mor- 
laix  never  found  a  place  in  the  saints'  calendar ;  but  his 
glorious  verses  have  now  secured  a  home  for  him  in  the 
best  hearts  of  Christendom.  Of  English  parentage,  and 
a  child  of  old  Brittany,  he  found  his  way  into  the  clois- 
ters of  the  celebrated  Cluny,  and  spent  his  devoted 
life  in  praying  and  singing  of  judgment  and  of  heaven, 
under  the  fatherly  direction  of  Peter  the  venerable  abbot, 
himself  a  master  of  spiritual  song,  and  then  at  the  summit 
of  his  reputation.  Bernard's  home  was  supreme  in 
monastic  fame.  Surrounded  by  a  host  of  brethren,  wor- 
shipping in  the  grandest  old  church  in  France,  and  daily 
joining  in  the  most  full  and  impressive  ritual  of  his  times, 
there  would  seem  to  be  no  way  open  for  unpleasant  in- 
trusion on  his  contemplative  life.  But,  alas !  no  cloisters, 
however  richly  furnished,  or  however  strictly  guarded,  are 
at  all  times  inviolable  retreats  from  the  gathering  woes 
and  sorrows  of  a  sinful  world.  Bernard  felt  the  heaving 
outside.  He  saw  the  darkness  thickening  on  society,  he 
heard  the  voices  of  woe  foretelling  dissolution,  change, 


94  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

and  judgment.  To  liim  tlie  judge  was  at  the  door,  and 
he  tried  to  keep  himself  in  the  posture  of  readiness  by 
singing  hymns  of  admonition.  How  plaintive  is  his  voice, 
yet  how  it  thrills ! — 

The  world  is  old  and  sinful, 

Its  passing  hour  is  near ; 
Keep  watch,  be  hushed,  and  sober, 

The  Judge's  knock  to  hear. 
The  Judge  in  mercy  coming, 

The  Judge  enthroned  in  might, 
All  evil  things  to  banish, 

All  good  to  crown  with  light. 
That  Monarch  just  and  gentle 

The  dead  from  thrall  shall  free. 
Let  trembling-  seize  the  guilty. 

For  G-od  and  man  is  He  ! 
Rise,  Christian,  rise  to  meet  Him, 

Let  wrong  give  way  to  right, 
Let  teai's  of  godly  sorrow 

Melt  into  songs  of  light — 
The  light  that  has  no  setting. 

Too  new  for  moon  or  sun. 
So  crystal-like  and  golden. 

So  like  its  Maker,  one. 
And  when  the  Son  shall  render 

The  kingdom  up  once  more. 
And  God  the  Father's  glory 

Shall  brighten  evennore. 
Then  light,  as  yet  unfolded, 

Shall  open  on  the  blest. 
All  mysteries  revealing 

Of  holy,  endless  rest. 

The  note  struck  in  the  last  stanza  opened  a  transition 
movement,  and  Bernard's  soul  caught  an  insight  into  the 
clear  jasper  light  and  balmy  atmosphere  of  his  own  "  sweet 
and  happy  region."  What  a  happy  proof  of  the  har- 
monizing power  of  heavenliness  is  shown  in  the  fact  that 
the  hymn  of  this  heavenly-minded  monk  has  found  its 
way  into  the  hearts  of  all  classes  of  Christians,  and  into  the 
choirs  and  public  services  of  all  Christian  Churches.  The 
sweet  accordance  of  this  hymn  with  the  spirit  of  the  New 
Jerusalem,  and  with  the  mind  of  its  Divine  Lord,  is 
shown,  too,  in  the  response  which  it  has  from  the  most 
hallowed  depths  of  the  consecrated  heart,  and  in  its  sacred 
diarm  over  the  spirit  of  those  of  whom  Jesus  said,  ' '  Who- 


HYMN'S  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  95 

soever,  therefore,  shall  humble  himself  as  this  little  child, 
the  same  is  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The 
hymn  has  sometimes  brought  heaven  still  nearer,  even 
when  the  departing  spirit  has  felt  itself  on  the  threshold 
of  its  home.  So  it  was  with  the  dear  little  sufferer  men- 
tioned by  Dr.  Neale  in  his  notes  on  Bernard.  Almost  un- 
equalled agony  attended  the  upward  passage  of  the  child, 
but  the  youthful  sufferer  was  hushed  by  the  music  of  this 
hymn,  and  would  lie  without  a  murmur  while  they  re- 
peated it — 

Jerusalem,  the  golden, 

Where  milk  and  honey  flow, 

Both  heart  and  voice  sink  fainting 

Beneath  thy  crystal  glow. 

I  know  not,  oh,  I  know  not 
What  joys  of  home  are  there, 
What  bright  unfolding  glory, 
What  bliss  beyond  compare ! 

They  stand,  those  courts  of  Zion, 
All  glad  with  holy  song, 
And  radiant  with  the  angels, 
And  all  the  martyr  throng  ; 

The  Prince  abides  within  them, 
Amid  serenest  light, 
And  all  the  blest  ones'  pastures 
In  glorious  sheen  are  dight. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David, 
And  there,  all  free  from  care, 
Are  conquerors  in  triumph  ; 
And  feast  and  song  are  there. 

And  they  who  with  their  Captain 

Have  overcome  in  fight, 

For  ever  and  for  ever 

Are  robed  with  Him  in  white  ! 


O  sacred,  peaceful  harp-notes  ! 
0  never-ending  hymn ! 
0  hallow' d,  sweet  refreshment, 
And  peace  of  seraphim  ! 

0  ceaseless,  ardent  thirsting. 
With  ever  full  content ! 
0  real  matchless  vision 
Of  God  omnipotent ! 


96  HYMX- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

There  are  the  many  mansions 
For  many  a  saintly  heir, 
And  various  compensations 
For  divers  claimants  there ; 

As  'midst  the  starry  clusters 
That  deck  our  lower  sky 
One  star  excels  another, 
So  will  it  be  on  high ! 

Jerusalem,  the  glorious, 
The  pride  of  the  elect, 
Dear  vision  of  the  future, 
That  longing  hearts  expect. 

By  faith  I  now  behold  thee, 
Thy  walls  I  here  discern  ; 
My  thoughts  are  kindling  for  thee, 
And  strive,  and  pant,  and  yearn ! 

Jerusalem,  in  oneness. 
That  dost  our  lowness  see, 
Thou,  thou  art  all  my  boasting ; 
All  shame  belongs  to  me ! 

Jerusalem,  triumphant, 
On  that  safe,  happy  shore, 
I  hope,  I  long,  I  sing  thee. 
And  love  thee  more  and  more  ! 

I  do  not  plead  my  merit, 
I  seek  not  such  a  plea ; 
My  merit  is  perdition 
Abiding  upon  me  ; 

And  yet  I  venture,  trusting. 
And  hoping  on  my  way, 
For  those  rewards  immortal 
To  laboui-  night  and  day. 

My  Father,  best  and  dearest, 
Who  made  and  saved  His  child, 
Bore  with  me  in  my  weakness, 
And  washed  me  when  defiled. 

When  in  His  strength  contending. 
For  joy  my  spirits  leap ; 
Wlien  quailing  in  the  conflict, 
I  weep,  or  fain  would  weep. 

And  grace,  sweet  heavenly  unction, 
Shall  all  its  virtue  prove, 
And  Da^'id's  royal  fountain 
Shall  every  stain  remove. 


HYMNS  FBOM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  97 

O  Sion,  mine,  the  golden, 
More  lovely  far  than  gold ; 
With  bands  of  laurell'd  bright  ones 
For  ever  there  enrolled ! 

O  sweet  and  happy  region, 
Wilt  thou  ever  bless  my  eyes  ? 

0  sweet  and  happy  region, 
Wilt  thou  ever  be  my  prize  ? 

1  hare  the  inward  earnest. 
The  hope  to  cheer  and  bless, 
Shall  I  ever  gaia  the  land  itself? 
Tell  me,  0  tell  me,  yes ! 

Rejoice,  O  dust  and  ashes ! 
The  Lord  shall  be  thine  own ! 
And  thou  art  His  for  ever ! 
His  now,  and  His  alone  ! 

For  many  generations  sucli  winged  thoughts  as  these 
about  the  new  Jerusalem  contimiecl,  at  times,  to  rise  accept- 
ably to  heaven  from  the  monastic  cells  of  Europe.  The 
song  of  the  Monk  of  Cluny  is  so  akin  to  the  strain  of 
another  monk,  a  Dutch  brother  of  "  The  Common  Life," 
that  to  sing  the  one  is  to  be  carried  in  imagination  to  the 
cloisters  where  the  other  first  came  gushing  from  the  soul 
of  its  devout  author.  About  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  in  one  of  the  retreats  of  his  order,  an  eminently 
pious  recluse,  as  he  used  to  walk  with  his  brethren  in  the 
cloisters  or  in  the  garden,  would  sometimes  stop  and  say, 
"  Dear  brethren,  I  must  go  ;  there  is  some  one  waiting  for 
me  in  my  cell."  That  "  some  one"  was  the  object  of  his 
supreme  affection,  the  chosen  companion  of  his  soul,  his 
Redeemer  and  Lord.  Those  who  heard  him  knew  with 
whom  he  wished  to  commune,  and  have  told  us  that  what 
he  said  to  the  Lord,  and  what  the  Lord  said  to  him  at  such 
times,  is  left  for  our  instruction  in  his  tract  on  the  inward 
discourse  of  Christ  to  the  faithful  soul.  This  tract  forms 
the  first  part  of  that  book  which  ''came  forward  as  an 
answer  to  the  sighing  of  Christian  Europe  for  light  from 
heaven,  and  which  contained  so  many  rivulets  of  truth 
silently  stealing  away  unto  light  from  that  interdicted 
fountain,"  the  Bible,  that  its  wide-spread  "  diffusion  over 
Christendom,  anticipated  in  1453  the  diffusion  of  the  Bible 
itself  in  1853."     In  that  "one  remarkable  book,"  as  Dean 


98  HYMN-WEITEES  XHB  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Milman  says,  "was  gatliered  and  concentrated  all  that  was 
elevating,  passionate,  profoundly  pious,  in  all  tlie  older 
mystics.  G-erson,  EysBroek,  Tauler,  all  wlio  addressed 
the  heart  in  later  times,  were  summed  up  and  brought  into 
one  circle  of  light  and  heat,  in  this  single  small  volume. 
That  this  hook  supplied  some  imperious  want  in  the 
Christianity  of  mankind,  that  it  supjilied  it  with  fulness 
and  felicity,  which  left  nothing,  at  this  period  of  Chris- 
tianity, to  be  desired,  its  boundless  popularitj''  is  the  one 
unanswerable  testimony.  .  .  .  The  size  of  the  book,  the 
manner,  the  style,  the  arrangement,  as  well  as  its  profound 
sympathy  with  all  the  religious  feelings,  wants,  and 
passions ;  its  vivid  and  natural  expressions,  to  monastic 
Christianity  what  the  Hebrew  psalms  are  to  our  common 
religion,  to  our  common  Christianity ;  its  contagious  j)iety  ; 
— all  conspired  to  its  universal  dissemination.  Its  manner, 
its  short  quivering  sentences,  which  went  at  once  to  the 
heart,  and  laid  hold  of  and  clung  tenaciously  to  the  memory 
with  the  compression  and  completeness  of  proverbs ;  its 
axioms,  each  of  which  suggested  endless  thought ;  its 
imagery,  scriptural  and  simple,  were  ahke  original, 
unicj[ue.  .  .  .  No  book  has  been  so  often  reprinted,  no 
book  has  been  so  often  translated,  or  into  so  many  lan- 
guages, as  'The  Imitation  of  Christ.'"  Who  does  not 
bless  the  memory  of  its  author ;  who  does  not  enjoy  the 
sentences  of  the  man  who  wrote  as  the  Saviour  was  speaking 
to  his  heart  ?  who  does  not  love  the  name  of  Thomas  a 
Kempis  ?  He  who  instructed  the  world  on  the  "  Imitation 
of  Christ,"  could  sing  too  of  the  heaven  where  he  hoped  to 
see  his  beloved  Master.  He  was  a  hymnist,  and  the  joys 
above  formed  his  chosen  theme.  Let  those  who  would, 
like  him,  find  Christ  after  waiting  for  them  in  their  cell,  be, 
like  him,  ever  ready  for  devotion,  and  breathing  more  and 
more  deeply  his  heavenly  spirit  from  day  to  day,  they  wiU 
find  a  daily  joy  in  singing  with  him — 

High  tlie  angel  choirs  are  raising 

Heart  and  voice  in  harmony ; 
The  Creator  EJing  still  praising, 

Whom  in  beauty  there  they  see. 

Sweetest  strains,  from  soft  harps  stealing  ; 
Trumpets,  notes  of  triumph  pealing" ; 
Radiant  wings  and  white  stoles  gleaming, 
Up  the  steps  of  glory  streaming ; 


HYMNS  FROM  OLD  CLOISTERS.  99 

Wteii  the  heavenly  bells  are  ringing, 
Holy,  holy,  holy,  singing 

To  the  mighty  Trinity  ; 
Holy,  holy,  holy  !  crying  ; 
For  all  earthly  care  and  sighing 

In  that  city  cease  to  be ! 

Every  voice  is  there  harmonious, 
Praising  God  in  hymns  symphonious ; 
Love  each  heart  with  light  enfolding, 
As  they  stand  in  peace  beholding 

There  the  Triune  Deity ! 
Whom  adore  the  seraphim, 
Aye  with  love  eternal  burning; 
Venerate  the  cherubim. 

To  their  want  of  honour  turning ; 
Whilst  angelic  thrones  adoring 
Graze  upon  His  majesty. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  that  region, 
And  how  fair  that  heavenly  region, 

Where  thus  men  and  angels  blend ; 
Glorious  will  that  city  be, 
Full  of  deep  tranquillity, 

Light  and  peace  from  end  to  end  ! 
All  the  happy  dwellers  there 

Shine  in  robes  of  purity. 

Keep  the  law  of  charity, 

Bound  in  fervent  unity ; 
Labour  finds  them  not,  nor  care. 

Ignorance  can  ne'er  perplex. 

Nothing  tempt  them,  nothing  vex ; 

Joy  and  health  their  fadeless  blessing. 

Always  all  things  good  possessing. 


CHAPTEE  YIII. 
SO]}fGS  IN  HIGS  PLACES. 


"  Praise   Him  in  the  heights.     Kings   of  the  earth,   and  all  people, 
princes,  andall  judges  of  the  earth,let  them  praise  the  name  oftheLord." 

The  great  dramatist  gives  us  no  mere  fancy  sketeli  wten 
lie  makes  an  inheritor  of  royalty  say  of  himself : — 

The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 

And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported 

And  rapt  In  secret  studies. 


I  pray  thee  mark  me. 
I  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that  which,  but  by  being  so  retired, 
O'er  prized  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother 
Awaked  an  evil  nature. 

Such  princes  have  lived,  and  studied,  and  prayed,  and 
suffered,  to  the  edification  of  a  few,  and  to  the  sorrow  of 
many.  Hugh  Capet,  the  father  of  the  third  line  of  French 
kings,  showed  himself  quite  equal  to  his  position,  and  held 
the  reins  so  as  to  keep  his  rude  and  kicking  subjects  within 
the  traces.  He  knew  how  to  preserve  quietness  within  his 
own  border,  and  how  to  make  a  sufficiently  awful  im- 
pression outside.  He  was  a  ruler  at  home  and  a  terror 
abroad  ;  and  in  those  days  both  were  desirable  virtues  in 
men  of  his  calling.  He  pi'ospered,  and  finished  his  royal 
career  in  996.  But  like  does  not  always  beget  like.  His 
son  Eobert  came  to  the  throne,  bringing  to  it  all  his  father's 
softer  virtues,  without  those  sterner  qualities  for  govern- 
ment which  are  necessary  to  keep  the  balance  of  state.  He 
wanted  to  be  good,  and  was  good.  But  he  was  too  willing 
to  cast  the  affairs  of  government  upon  some  brother,  and 


SONGS  m  HIGH  PLACES.  101 

false  brothers  are  not  lacking.  If  not  to  be  found  in 
France,  Italy  could  furnish  one.  Gregory  the  Fifth  could 
do  the  jwlitics  for  him,  and  the  fighting  too,  and  manage 
at  the  same  time  to  lord  it  over  King  Robert's  conscience. 
The  king  was  not  fit  for  kingship  ;  he  was  more  disposed 
to  the  cloisters.  Anybody  might  rule  for  him.  He  might 
have  had  rule  in  Italy ;  yes,  and  the  imperial  crown  might 
have  been  on  his  brow.  But  no,  not  he  :  "Let  me  alone," 
he  seemed  to  say,  "my  joy  is  in  secret;  give  me  my 
psalter,  my  service-book,  my  psalm,  my  hymn,  and  I  am 
happy."  And  so  he  was.  He  took  his  choice.  The  out- 
side world  might  wag  its  way  as  it  pleased ;  he  would  be  a 
royal  monk,  and  his  palace  should  be  his  cell.  And  so  he 
lived,  and  prayed,  and  chanted,  and  sung ;  and  whether 
France  or  the  world  were  ever  the  better  for  his  rule  or  not, 
Christendom  is  the  better  for  one  hymn  at  least,  which  he 
left  as  the  fruit  of  his  devotion,  and  in  which  his  reverent, 
tender,  and  peacful  spirit  is  graciously  embalmed.  As  a 
king,  his  memory  might  have  melted  into  oblivion  ;  but  as 
a  hymnist  his  name  will  be  dear  to  every  following  gene- 
ration of  those  who  breathe  the  feeling  and  sustain  the 
music  of  his  Veni  Sancte  Spiritus. 

Holy  Spirit  eome,  we  pray, 
Come  from  heaven  and  shed  the  ray 
Of  Thy  Ught  divine. 

Come,  thou  Father  of  the  poor, 
Giver  from  a  boundless  store, 

Light  of  hearts,  O  shine ! 

Matchless  comforter  in  woe, 
Sweetest  guest  the  soul  can  know. 
Living  waters  blest. 

When  we  weep  our  solace  sweet, 
Coolest  shade  in  summer  heat. 
In  our  labour  rest. 

Holy  and  most  blessed  light, 
Make  our  inmost  sjDirits  bright, 

With  Thy  radiance  naild ; 

For  without  Thy  sacred  powers, 
Nothing  can  we  own  of  ours. 
Nothing  undefiled. 

What  is  arid,  fresh  bedew, 
What  is  sordid,  cleanse  anew. 

Balm  on  the  wounded  pour. 


102  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Wliat  is  rigid,  gently  bend, 
On  what  is  cold  Thy  fervour  send ; 
What  has  strayed,  restore. 

To  Thine  own  in  every  place 
Give  the  sacred,  seven-fold  grace, 
Give  Thy  faithful  this. 

Give  to  virtue  its  reward, 
Safe  and  peaceful  end  afford, 

Give  eternal  bliss. 

By  bequeathing  tliis  liymn  to  us  King  Eobert  has  left  the 
world  better  than  he  found  it.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  mercy 
for  the  world  that  Providence  makes  heroes  as  well  as 
monks.  Monkish  monarchs  have  been  blessings  in  their 
way.  But  both,  men  and  tilings  need  leaders  now  and 
then  of  harder  make.  Human  nature  being  as  it  is, 
the  master  heart  may  be  called  for,  the  mighty  arm,  and 
the  sceptre  of  steel.  And  there  have  been  men  starting  up, 
at  some  junctures,  above  the  strife  and  rage  of  human 
opposition  to  the  good  and  the  true,  who  have  exemplified 
the  possibility  of  being  valiant  for  truth  in  the  field  as  well 
as  in  the  closet  and  the  choir.  And  if  these  have  not  been 
hymnists,  they  have  never  lacked  a  hymn  to  cheer  them  in 
the  day  of  battle,  in  the  day  of  victory,  in  the  day  of  death. 
Gustavus  Adolphus  of  Sweden  had  the  spirit  of  a  king, 
the  powers  of  a  hero,  and  the  heart  of  a  Christian  ;  all  this 
he  proved  in  his  chivalrous  advance  to  the  succour  of  the 
German  Protestants  in  their  long  and  terrible  struggle  for 
liberty  of  conscience  and  worship.  He  landed  on  the  coast 
of  Pomerania  with  thirty  thousand  men  on  the  24th  of 
June,  1630,  and  in  imison  with  his  German  allies  marched 
to  successive  victories,  and,  as  it  proved,  to  victorious  death. 
He  was  cheered  onward  by  those  who  hailed  him  as  their 
deliverer ;  but  he  needed  more.  His  heart  looked  to  the 
source  of  might ;  and  who  can  tell  how  richly  and  mightily 
that  heart  received  responses  of  power  by  means  of  one 
hymn?  If  he  could  not,  like  Robert  of  France,  write  hymns 
for  his  own  use,  God  could  supply  the  lack.  Out  of  the 
ranks  of  battling  Protestants  the  hymnist  rose  whose  words 
were  to  nerve  the  arm  and  strengthen  the  heart  of  the  hero 
and  his  bands.  In  1631  Altenburg  issued  that  hymn,  now 
so  widely  known  and  loved  by  so  many  hearts.     He  called 


SONGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES.  103 

it  "a  heart-cheering  song  of  comfort,  or  the  watch-word  of 
the  evangelical  army  in  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  September  7, 
1631,  'Grocl  with  lis.' "  This  became  the  battle  song  of 
Gustavus.  The  conqueror  often  sung  it  with  his  troops.  He 
sang  it  for  the  last  time  when  entering  the  field  of  Liitzen 
against  the  famous  Wallenstein — his  last  field,  the  scene 
of  his  last  victory,  and  to  him  the  field  of  triumphant 
death.  The  hero's  parting  song  has  cheered  many  a 
Christian  soldier  since  then.     Let  it  cheer  us  now. 

Fear  not,  O  little  flock,  the  foe 
Who  madly  seeks  yoiu*  overtliroTV, 

Dread  not  his  rage  and  power ; 
Wliat  tliough  yoiir  courage  sometimes  faints, 
His  seeming  triumph  o'er  God's  saints 

Lasts  but  a  little  hour. 

Be  of  g'ood  cheer,  your  cause  belongs 
To  Him  who  can  avenge  your  wrongs, 

Leave  it  to  Him  our  Lord. 
Though  hidden  yet  from  all  our  eyes. 
He  sees  the  Grideon  who  shall  rise 

To  save  us  and  His  word. 

As  true  as  G-od's  own  word  is  true, 
Nor  earth  nor  hell  with  all  theii-  crew 

Against  us  shall  prevail. 
A  j  est  aud  by-word  are  they  grown ; 
God  is  with  us,  we  are  His  own. 

Our  victory  cannot  fail. 

Amen,  Lord  Jesus,  grant  our  prayer! 
Great  Captain,  now  Thine  arm  make  bare ; 

right  for  us  once  again ! 
So  shall  Thy  saints  and  martyi's  raise 
A  mighty  chorus  to  Thy  praise. 

World  without  end.     Amen. 

Songs  in  high  places  have  not  been  always  "songs  of 
deliverance,"  or  hymns  of  victory.  No  high  places  on  earth 
are  so  high  as  to  be  beyond  the  swell  of  human  sorrow.  The 
floods  will  arise  in  days  of  darkness,  and  occasionally 
desolate  the  homes  and  hearts  of  royal  life.  So  it  was  in 
the  court  of  Hungary  in  1526.  The  Turkish  hordes  had 
swept  down  upon  the  Christian  borders,  and  the  king,  who 
had  armed  himself  for  the  defence  of  his  throne,  had  been 
cut  down  with  the  flower  of  his  nobility,  leaving  Maria,  his 
queen,  a  defenceless  widow,  open   not   only  to   Turkish 


104  HYMX-WEITEBS  AJSTD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

violence,  but  what  was  more  dreadful  to  lier,  an  invasion 
of  her  Christian  rights  of  conscience  on  the  part  of  those 
who  bore  the  hallowed  name  of  the  Savioiu",  whom  she 
loved.  Her  attachment  to  the  reformed  doctrine  rendered 
her  desolated  home  unsafe ;  and  for  her  religion's  sake 
she  fled  from  Buda,  trusting  alone  to  Him,  who  is  the 
husband  of  the  widow,  and  the  "  present  help  "  and  reward 
of  those  who  suifer  for  His  name's  sake.  Nothing  is 
grander  than  the  sight  of  a  human  soul  cut  off  from  all 
visible  help,  casting  itself  with  all  its  interests  in  time  and 
eternity  upon  the  power  and  goodness  of  God  alone.  Such 
sublime  action  is  recorded  in  the  song  of  this  bereaved, 
persecuted,  and  fugitive  queen. 

Can  I  my  fate  no  more  withstand, 
Nor  'scape  the  hand 
That  for  faith  would  grieve  me ; 
This  is  my  strength,  that  well  I  knoTv 
In  weal  or  woe, 
God's  love  the  world  must  leave  me. 
God  is  not  far,  though  hidden  now, 
He  soon  shall  rise  and  make  them  bow, 
Who  of  His  "Word  bereave  me. 

Judge  as  ye  will  my  cause  this  hour, 
Yours  is  the  power, 
God  bids  me  strive  no  longer ; 
I  know  what  mightiest  seems  to-day 
Shall  pass  away. 
Time  than  yoiu-  rule  is  stronger. 
The  eternal  God  I  rather  choose, 
And  fearless  all  for  this  I  lose, 
God  help  me  thus  to  conquer  ! 

All  has  its  day,  the  proverb  saith ; 
This  is  my  faith. 
Thou,  Christ,  wilt  be  beside  me. 
And  look  on  all  this  pain  of  mine 
As  were  it  Thine, 
When  sharpest  woe  betide  me ; 
Must  I  then  tread  this  jjath — I  jdeld ; 
World,  as  thou  wilt,  God  is  my  shield, 
And  He  will  rightly  guide  me  ! 

We  have  no  record  of  the  divine  response  to  the  widow's 
act  of  trust,  but  the  "  record  is  on  high."  Trust  in  God  is 
never  long  without  its  answering  hush  from  above.  God 
arranges  His  times  and  instruments  of  blessing  so  as  most 


SONGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES.  105 

happily  to  aid  the  sufferer  and  most  fully  to  glorify  Himself, 
and  how  often  does  the  blessing  come  by  means  of  a  com- 
fortable hymn  ?  From  time  to  time  the  hymn  of  plaintive 
appeal  is  replied  to  by  the  hymn  of  consolation.  In  many 
an  individual  history  it  is  so ;  and  it  is  always  so  in  the 
history  of  the  Church.  Now  Grod's  children  are  supplied 
with  hymns  expressive  of  reliance  ;  and  now  with  forms  of 
"joy  in  tribulation."  Thus,  "  one  generation  shall  praise 
His  works  to  another."  Nor  can  it  be  otherwise  than 
instructive  and  cheering  to  listen  to  the  voices  of  song  from 
the  "high  places"  of  Grermany,  as  they  come  in  successive 
responses  through  the  periods  of  her  suffering,  joy  answer- 
ing to  sorrow,  and  triumph  to  depression.  Though  a 
century  passes  between,  it  is  not  difficult  to  recognise  some- 
thing like  an  inspiration  responsive  to  Queen  Maria's 
trustful  hymn  in  the  song  which  in  1653  rose  from  the  full 
heart  of  Louisa  Henrietta,  Electress  of  Brandenburgh. 
How  the  music  lulls  the  tremulous  sufiferer ! 

Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives, 

Christ,  my  trust,  is  dead  no  more ; 
,Iii  the  strength  this  knowledge  gives. 

Shall  not  all  my  fears  be  o'er, 
Though  the  night  of  death  be  fraught 
Still  with  many  an  anxious  thought  ? 

Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives, 

And  His  life  I  once  shall  see  ; 
Bright  the  hope  this  promise  gives. 

Where  He  is  I  too  shall  be. 
Shall  I  fear,  then  ?     Can  the  Head 
Rise  and  leave  the  members  dead  ':* 

Close  to  Him  my  soul  is  bound, 

In  the  bonds  of  hope  enclasp'd ; 
Faith's  strong  hand  this  hold  hath  found. 

And  the  Rock  hath  firmly  grasp' d ; 
Arid  no  care  of  death  can  part 
Prom  our  Lord  the  trusting  heart. 

I  shall  see  Him  with  these  eyes, 

Him  whom  I  shall  surely  know  ; 
Not  another  shall  I  rise. 

With  His  love  this  heart  shall  glow  ; 
Only  there  shall  disappear 
Weakness  in  and  round  me  here. 


106  HYMN-WRITEKS  A2s^D  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Ye  who  suffer,  sigli,  and  moan, 

Fresh  and  glorious  there  shall  reign ; 

Earthly  here  the  seed  is  sown, 
Heavenly  it  shall  rise  again ; 

Natm-al  here  the  death  we  die, 

Spiritual  our  life  on  high. 

Body,  be  thou  of  good  cheer, 

In  thy  Savioiu''s  care  rejoice  ; 
Give  not  place  to  gloom  and  fear, 

Dead  thou  yet  shalt  know  His  voice, 
When  the  final  trump  is  heard, 
And  the  deaf  cold  grave  is  stirr'd. 

Laugh  to  scorn,  then,  death  and  hell ; 

Laugh  to  scorn  the  gloomy  grave : 
Caught  into  the  air  to  dwell 

With  the  Lord,  who  comes  to  save, 
We  shall  trample  o'er  our  foes. 
Mortal  weakness,  fear,  and  woes. 

Only  see  ye  that  your  heart 

Rise  betunes  from  earthly  lust : 
Would  ye  there  with  Him  have  part. 

Here  obey  your  Lord  and  trust, 
Fix  your  hearts  beyond  the  skies. 
Whither  ye  yourselves  would  rise. 

Another  sliort  interval,  and  the  soothing  response  to  the 
widow's  hymn  is  repeated  by  a  masculine  voice,  in  fine 
harmony  with  the  utterance  of  the  Brandenbiirgh  Princess. 
The  voice  comes  this  time  from  an  ancient  and  princely 
house,  the  name  of  which  is  dear  to  every  English  heart, 
loyal  and  reverent  enough  to  acknowledge  the  Providence 
which  associated  that  name  with  the  happiest  period  of 
English  royalty.  Who  does  not  thank  God  for  the  line  of 
Brunswick?  Even  losing  sight  of  the  blessings  which 
have  come  to  us  in  our  national  relation  to  that  illustrious 
line,  there  will  always  be  Christian  hearts,  which,  while 
the  Grerman  or  the  English  language  lives,  will  gather 
strength  and  joy  from  one,  at  least,  who  graced  that 
Brunswick  pedigree.  In  the  noble  family  succession  from 
Henry  the  Lion  to  the  honoured  and  beloved  lady  who 
now  sways  the  sceptre  of  Great  Britain,  there  have  been 
names  distinguished  by  many  family  virtues  and  courtty 
actions  ;  but  one  has  left  a  longer-lived  memorial  in  a  few 
sweet  and  touching  hymns.     One  of  these  is  a  song  for  the 


SONGS  m  HIGH  PLACES.  107 

soul  in  bereavement  and  sorrow.  It  comes  upon  the  bur- 
dened heart  with  a  soothing  music,  like  that  which  touched 
the  lonely  spirit  of  the  bereaved  widow  at  Nain,  when 
Jesus  "  had  compassion  on  her,  and  said  unto  her,  Weep 
not!" 

Leave  all  to  God, 
Forsaken  one,  and  stay  tliy  tears ; 

For  the  Highest  knows  thy  pain, 
Sees  thy  sufferings  and  thy  fears  ; 

Thou  slialt  not  wait  His  help  in  vain, 
Leave  all  to  God. 

Be  still  and  trust ! 
For  His  strokes  are  strokes  of  love, 

Thou  must  for  thy  jDrofit  bear ; 
He  thy  filial  fear  would  move, 
Trust  thy  Father's  loving  care. 
Be  still  and  trust ! 

Know,  God  is  near ! 
Though  thou  think  Him  far  away, 

Though  His  mercy  long-  have  slept. 
He  will  come  and  not  delay, 

When  His  child  enough  hath  wept. 
For  God  is  near ! 

Oh,  teach  Him  not 
Wlien  and  how  to  hear  thy  prayers ; 

Never  doth  our  God  forget. 
He  the  cross  who  longest  bears 
Finds  his  sorrows'  bounds  are  set. 
Then  teach  Him  not. 

If  thou  love  Him, 
Walking  truly  in  His  ways. 

Then  no  trouble,  cross,  or  death 
E'er  shall  silence  faith  and  praise ; 
All  things  serve  thee  here  beneath, 
If  thou  love  God ! 

This  was  the  hymn  of  Anthony  Ulric,  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick Wolfenbuttel.  He  gave  it  to  the  Christian  world  in 
1667,  and  it  will  ever  live  as  the  precious  utterance  of  a 
noble  heart  in  its  purest  and  most  hallowed  state  of  feeling. 
There  is,  however,  another  hymn  whose  birth  and  history 
claim  a  page  in  the  chronicles  of  the  House  of  Brunswick. 
How  finely  wrought  are  some  of  the  most  important  links 
of  things  in  human  history ;  how  minute  and  delicate  the 


108  HTMisr-wniTEiis  and  their  hymns. 

points  on  wliich  the  most  weighty  consequences  turn  ;  how 
slight  a  touch,  at  certain  junctures,  would  have  turned  the 
mightiest  current  of  human  affairs  !  About  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  the  seven  sons  of  William  of  Bruns- 
wick cast  lots  to  determine  which  of  them  should  marry. 
Poor  young  princes  !  the  patrimony  was  probably  not  rich 
enough  to  bless  them  all  with  matrimonial  rights !  The 
lot  fell  upon  George,  the  sixth  son.  After  four  of  his 
brothers  had  reigned,  of  coiu-se  without  issue,  the  govern- 
ment came  to  Christian  Lewis,  his  son  ;  then  to  Greorge 
William,  another  son,  who  left  as  his  heiress  Sophia 
Dorothea,  who  married  her  cousin,  George  Lewis,  of 
Hanover,  afterwards  George  I.  of  England.  George  Lewis 
was,  on  his  mother's  side,  the  grandson  of  Elizabeth, 
Queen  of  Bohemia,  daughter  of  James  I.  of  England. 
The  houses  of  Stuart  and  Brunswick  were  thus  at  one,  and 
the  results,  as  happily  developed  in  the  history  of  modern 
England,  may,  perhaps,  illustrate  the  divine  proverb, 
"The  lot  is  cast  into  the  lap,  but  the  whole  disposing 
thereof  is  of  the  Lord."  This  remarkable  linking  of 
Stuart  and  Brunswick  has  a  peculiar  interest  for  the  lover 
of  spiritual  hymns  and  songs.  There  was  a  hymnist  among 
the  Brunswickers,  and  one,  too,  among  the  Stuarts. 
EHzabeth,  the  grandmother  of  George  I.,  used  to  solace 
herself  with  hj^mns  ;  and  one  of  these  has  come  down  to  us 
among  the  evidences  of  her  piety  and  talents.  Its  music 
is  not  flowing  throughout;  it  has  some  of  the  quaintness  of 
its  time,  but  it  is  pleasant  in  its  simplicity ;  it  breathes  a 
vigorous  spirit,  and  has  a  rich  and  cheerful  tone  of  Chris- 
tian feeling.  The  hymnist  was  the  daughter  of  James  I. 
The  morning-tide  of  her  life  was  bright ;  she  had  been 
brought  from  Scotland  an  infant  when  her  father  came  to 
the  throne  of  the  United  Kingdom ;  and  her  first  English 
residence  was  Combe  Abbey,  in  Warwickshire,  where, 
amidst  scenes  of  quiet  rural  beauty,  she  spent  some  of  the 
happiest  days  of  her  life.  She  soon  gave  promise  of  those 
charms  of  person,  mind,  and  manners  which  afterwards 
secured  for  her  the  title  of  "  Queen  of  Hearts."  She  must 
have  had  an  inspiring  presence  to  bring  from  Ben  Jonson 
that  remarkable  poetic  combination  of  compliment  and 
prophecy  which  he  addressed  to  the  King  and  Queen  when 
their  eldest  son  was  created  Prince  of  Wales  : — 


SONGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES.  109 

Nor  shall  less  joy  your  royal  hopes  pursue 

In  that  most  princely  maid,  whose  form  might  call 

The  world  to  war,  and  make  it  hazard  all 

Its  valour  for  her  beauty ;  she  shall  be 

Mother  of  nations,  and  her  princes  see 

Rivals  almost  to  these. 

Could  Ben  Jonson  liave  foreseen  that  she  would  be 
the  mother  of  that  illustrious  line  now  represented  by 
our  beloved  Queen  Victoria?  A  foreign  prince,  who 
saw  Elizabeth  in  1608,  says  that  she  was  "handsome, 
and  of  a  noble  expression  of  countenance;"  and  one 
of  her  own  countrymen,  who  knew  her,  tells  us  that 
she  was  "  a  princess  of  lovely  beauty,  in  whom  at  the  first 
glance,  majesty  shines  out,  though  hidden  by  courtesy. 
Although  she  has  not  yet  passed  her  twelfth  year,  yet  all 
behold  in  her  lively  proofs  of  most  excellent  and  noble 
dispositions.  Her  wit  is  acute,  her  memory  tenacious,  her 
judgment  discerning,  beyond  her  years.  In  piety  and 
knowledge  of  languages  she  excels.  She  also  diligently 
cultivates  music,  and  is  a  great  proficient  in  the  art ;  for 
this  tranquil  liberal  science  most  fittingly  accords  with  the 
temper  of  the  most  placid  and  illustrious  maiden.  Added 
to  this,  her  manners  are  most  gentle  ;  and  she  shows  no 
common  skill  in  those  liberal  exercises  of  mind  and  body 
which  become  a  royal  maiden.  In  fine,  whatever  was  ex- 
cellent or  lofty  in  Queen  Elizabeth  is  all  compressed  into 
the  tender  age  of  this  virgin  princess,  and  if  God  spare  her 
to  us,  will  be  found  there  accumulated."  She  and  her 
brother,  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  loved  one  another  very 
tenderly.  The  one  could  scarcely  be  happy  in  the  other's 
absence.  Nor  was  the  tender  bond  at  all  loosened  by  the 
attachment  which  now  sprang  up  between  Elizabeth  and 
her  husband  elect,  Frederic  Y.,  Count  Palatine  of  the 
Ehine.  Just,  however,  as  all  were  preparing  themselves 
for  mutual  congratulations  on  Elizabeth's  marriage,  Henry 
was  seized  with  fever.  His  afi'ectionate  sister,  distressed 
at  being  forbidden  to  see  him,  stole  away  from  St.  James's 
more  than  once  in  disguise,  and  made  vain  attempts  to  gain 
admittance  to  his  chamber.  She  never  saw  him  again. 
He  died,  saying,  ""Where  is  my  dear  sister?"  A  dark 
shadow  fell  on  the  soul  of  the  tender-hearted  princess. 
This  was  her  first  pang  of  bereavement ;    and,    alas !    it 


110  HYMN- WRITERS  AICD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

proved  to  be  tlie  foreshadowing  of  future  sorrows,  the 
earnest  of  a  long  succession  of  clouds  upon  her  eventful 
life.  It  was  while  this  early  tribulation  pressed  upon  her 
heart  that  she  gave  expression  to  her  feelings  in  the  hymn 
so  remarkable  for  its  beauty  and  pathos  : — 

This  is  joy,  this  is  true  pleasure, 
If  we  best  things  make  oiir  treasure, 
And  enjoy  them  at  full  leisiu'e, 
Evermore  in  richest  treasure. 

God  is  only  excellent, 
Let  up  to  Him  our  love  be  sent ; 
Whose  desires  are  set  or  bent 
On  aught  else,  shall  much  repent. 

Theirs  is  a  most  wretched  case 
Wbo  themselves  so  far  disgrace, 
That  they  their  affections  place 
Upon  tilings  named  vile  and  base. 

Let  us  love  of  heaven  receive, 
These  are  joys  our  hearts  will  heave 
Higher  than  we  can  conceive, 
And  shall  us  not  fail  nor  leave. 

Earthly  things  do  fade,  decay, 
Constant  to  us  not  one  day ; 
Suddenly  they  pass  away. 
And  we  cannot  make  them  stay. 

All  the  vast  world  doth  contain. 
To  content  man's  heart,  are  vain, 
That  still  justly  will  complain. 
And  unsatisfied  remain. 

God  most  holy,  high,  and  great. 
Our  delight  doth  make  complete ; 
Wlien  in  us  He  takes  His  seat, 
Only  then  we  are  replete. 

Why  should  vain  joys  us  transport. 
Earthly  pleasures  are  but  short. 
And  are  mingled  in  such  sort. 
Griefs  are  greater  than  the  sport. 


0  my  God !  for  Christ  His  sake. 
Quite  from  me  this  dulness  take  ; 
Cause  me  earth's  love  to  forsake, 
And  of  heaven  my  realm  to  make. 


SONGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES.  Ill 

If  early  thanks  I  render  Thee, 
That  Thou  hast  enlightened  me 
With  such  knowledge  that  I  see 
What  things  most  behovef  ul  be ; 

That  I  hereon  meditate. 
That  desire  I  find  (tho'  late) 
To  prize  heaven  at  higher  rate, 
And  these  pleasures  vain  to  hate ; 

O  enlighten  more  my  sight, 
And  dis^Del  my  darksome  night, 
Good  Lord,  by  Thy  heavenly  light, 
And  Thy  beams  most  pure  and  bright. 

Since  in  me  such  thoughts  are  scant, 
Of  Thy  grace  repair  my  want, 
Often  meditations  grant, 
And  in  me  more  deeply  plant. 

Work  of  wisdom  more  desire. 
Grant  I  may,  with  holy  ire. 
Slight  the  world,  and  me  inspire 
With  Thy  love  to  be  on  fii-e. 

Wliat  care  I  for  lofty  place. 
If  the  Lord  grant  me  His  grace  ; 
Showing  me  His  pleasant  face, 
And  with  joy  I  end  my  race. 

This  is  only  my  desire. 
This  doth  set  my  heart  on  fire, 
That  I  may  receive  my  hire, 
With  the  saints  and  angels'  quire. 

O  my  soul,  of  heavenly  birth. 
Do  thou  scorn  this  basest  earth  ; 
Place  not  here  thy  joy  and  mirth, 
Where  of  bliss  is  greatest  dearth. 

From  below  thy  mind  remove, 
And  affect  the  things  above  ; 
Set  thy  heart  and  fix  thy  love 
Where  thou  truest  joy  shalt  prove. 

If  I  do  love  things  on  high. 
Doubtless  them  enjoy  shall  I ; 
Earthly  pleasures  if  I  try, 
They  piu'sued  faster  fly. 

0  Lord,  glorious,  yet  most  kind, 

Thou  hast  these  thoughts  put  in  my  mind ; 

Let  me  grace  increasing  find. 

Me  to  Thee  more  fii-mly  bind. 


112  HYMN- WRITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

To  God  glory,  thanks,  and  praise, 
I  will  render  all  my  days  ; 
Who  hath  blest  me  many  ways, 
Shedding  on  me  gracious  rays. 

To  me  grace,  0  Father,  send, 
On  Thee  wholly  to  depend  ; 
That  all  may  to  Thy  glory  tend — 
So  let  me  live,  so  let  me  end. 

Now  to  the  true  Eternal  King, 
Not  seen  with  human  eye, 
Th'  immortal,  only  wise,  true  God, 
Be  praise  perpetually ! 

Ill-fated  hymnist !  How  many,  many  a  time  after 
slie  penned  tMs  first  hymn,  and  gave  it  into  the  hand 
of  her  friend  and  tutor,  Lord  Harrington,  was  she  called  to 
test  the  faithfulness  of  her  God  in  hours  of  trouble.  She 
went  a  happy  bride  to  her  husband's  hereditary  palace  at 
Heidelberg,  became  a  happy  mother  at  eighteen,  saw  her 
husband  placed  on  the  throne  of  Bohemia,  and  realized  the 
dream  of  her  own  youthful  ambition — a  crown.  But  scarcely 
had  she  shown  her  queenly  presence  in  Bohemia,  before 
her  husband  was  driven  from  his  royalty.  She  fled  for  her 
life,  and  entered  on  the  dark  succession  of  misfortunes 
which  crowded  on  her  all  through  the  "  tliirty  years'  war." 
Hers  was  indeed  a  life  of  royal  suffering.  Widowed  at 
last,  beggared,  tortured  by  her  father's  crooked  policy, 
living  to  hear  of  her  brother  Charles's  death  on  the  scaffold, 
parting  with  her  children  for  lack  of  means  to  support  them, 
treated  with  cold  neglect  by  the  only  son  who  coxdd  help 
her,  having  her  sound  Protestant  heart  smitten  at  the 
perversion  of  others  of  her  children  to  Eomanism  ;  yet  her 
hopeful  and  buoyant  heart  kept  up  until,  after  forty 
sorrowful  years  of  exile,  and  thirty  years  of  desolate 
widowhood,  she  returned,  at  the  age  of  sixty-five,  to  finish 
her  eventful  career  in  the  land  of  her  infancy.  She  died 
in  Leicester  House,  Leicester  Square,  leaving  the  relics  of 
her  royal  furnitiire  to  be  preserved  in  that  same  Combe 
Abbey  which  had  witnessed  the  pleasures  of  her  youth, 
and  the  beginnings  of  that  piety  which  sustained  her  in 
sorrow,  and  gave  peace  to  her  last  hour.  Of  her  surviving 
daughters,  it  was  said  that  Elizabeth,  Abbess  of  Hervarden, 
was  the  most  learned  woman,  that  Louise  was  the  greatest 


SONGS  IN"  HIGH  PLACES.  113 

artist,  and  that  Sopliia,  lier  youngest,  was  the  most  accom- 
plished woman  in  Europe.  Elizabeth's  memory  as  a 
hymnist  is  remarkably  associated  with  the  names  of  some 
of  the  most  distinguished  hymnists  of  her  time.  Dr.  John 
Doune  wrote  her  epithalamium  on  her  marriage- day. 
Gfeorge  Wither  presented  complimentary  stanzas  on  her 
betrothal,  and  her  music  master  was  no  other  than  John 
Bull,  the  reputed  author  of  that  national  hymn  in  which 
all  British  hearts  now  offer  their  prayer  for  the  illustrious 
living  descendant  of  her  youngest  daughter — 

God  save  our  gracious  Queen. 
Long  live  our  noble  Queen, 

God  save  the  Queen ! 
Send  her  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious. 
Long  to  reign  over  us, 

God  save  the  Queen ! 

O  Lord  our  God,  arise, 
Scatter  her  enemies. 

And  make  them  fall. 
Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks, 
Confound  their  politics ; 
On  her  our  hearts  we  fix  :  i 

God  save  the  Queen ! 

Thy  richest  gifts  in  store, 
On  her  be  pleased  to  pour ; 

Long  may  she  reign  ! 
May  she  defend  our  laws. 
And  ever  give  us  cause 
To  sing  with  heart  and  voice, 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 

On  the  Sunday  after  the  coronation  of  Yietoria,  "  our 
m.ost  religious  and  gracious  Queen,"  there  was  an  interest- 
ing scene  at  Brixham  in  South  Devon.  A  crowd  of  sailors 
and  fishermen  attended  the  church — the  church  that  looks 
out  upon  Torbay,  on  whose  waters  so  many  of  the  hardy 
sons  of  that  beautiful  sea-board  have  been  trained  to  man 
"  the  wooden  walls  of  Old  England."  The  parson  of  the 
parish  was  in  the  pulpit,  the  gifted  and  gentle-spirited 
Henry  E.  Lyte,  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  still 
talked  of  with  reverence  and  affection  by  the  children  of 
those  whom  he  taught  in  sea-songs  to  remember  God  upon 
the  mighty  waters.  He  had  intended  to  preach  from 
another  text  that  day  ;  but  seeing  the  character  of  his  con- 

H 


114       t  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

gregation,  he  ehangfxl  liis  theme,  and  addressed  them  from 
the  Lord's  words  to  the  lishermeu  of  Galilee,  "  Cast  the  net 
on  the  right  side  of  the  ship,  and  ye  shall  find."  He 
showed  his  hearers  that  "it  is  the  religious  man  that  is 
always,  and  in  every  relation  of  life,  the  best  member  of 
society,  the  most  useful  to  others,  and  the  most  happy  in 
himself,"  and  that  no  man  ever  "  casts  the  net  on  the 
right  side  of  the  ship,  none  ever  catches  anything  worth 
his  finding,  who  does  not  seek  and  find  the  favour  of  God 
through  Christ."  Then  referring  to  the  circumstances 
under  which  they  were  met — those  of  the  coronation  week 
— he  said,  "  The  manner  in  which  our  fishermen  have 
conducted  themselves  through  all  this  week  cannot  have 
failed  to  gratify  all  who  have  witnessed  it.  The  people 
of  Brixham  may  well  be  proud  of  a  body  of  men  who 
have  so  practically  proved  that  they  can  command  them- 
selves  But  if  the  opening  of  3'our  proceedings 

was  praiseworthy,  the  close  of  them  is  not  less  so.  To 
meet  you  here,  my  brethren,  in  the  house  of  God,  to 
witness  your  orderly  conduct,  jomy  devotional  manner,  is, 

indeed,   most  pleasing  and  encouraging It 

seems  to  me  to  intimate  that  you  have  a  proper  sense  ol 
the  religious  nature  of  the  great  ceremony  we  have  just 
been  celebrating  in  these  realms  ;  that  you  view  it,  as 
indeed  it  is,  as  a  solemn  national  transaction,  carried  on 
in  the  sight  of  God,  in  one  of  His  holy  temples,  be- 
tween His  vicegerent  on  earth  and  the  people  He  has 
committed  to  her  charge  ;  and  that  you  are  aware  that 
God  must  be  appealed  to,  in  order  that  she  may  prove 
a  blessing  to  us,  or  that  we  may  be  enabled  to  discharge 
our  duties  to  her.  My  dear  friends,  nothing  is  really 
great  in  which  God  and  religion  have  not  a  j)lace.  De- 
prive the  coronation  of  these,  strip  the  pageant  of  its 
heavenly  halo,  and  how  poor  and  insignificant  does  it 
become !  It  is,  as  connecting  itself  with  God,  with  His  will, 
His  sanctuary.  His  appointment,  and  His  blessing,  that  the 
ceremony  becomes  truly  impressive.  In  this  light  I  trust 
that  your  presence  here  to-day  shows  that  you  view  it.  It 
is,  I  trust,  as  if  you  said.  We  have  but  half  discharged  our 
duty  on  this  occasion  till  we  have  gone  to  the  house  of  God, 
and  asked  His  blessing  on  our  youthful  sovereign — asked 
the  King  of  kings  and  the  Lord  of  lords  to  supply  the 


SONGS  IN  HIGH  PLACES.  115 

deficiencies  of  our  services  towards  her.  The  prayers  iu 
which  we  have  all  joined  here  to-day  afford  a  striking  com- 
pendium both  to  monarch  and  subject  of  their  respective 
duties  to  each  other ;  and  I  trust  that  we  shall  all  make  a 
point  of  studying  their  contents,  and  of  pouring  them  forth 
earnestly  every  Sabbath  at  the  throne  of  grace.  Then  may 
our  loyalty  be  expected  to  be,  not  like  the  vows  and 
garlands  that  adorned  the  festal  hour,  and  then  faded  away, 
but  like  the  jewels  of  the  royal  crown,  that  have  come 
down,  precious  and  untarnished,  through  successive  gene- 
rations. Oh,  let  the  loyalty  of  British  hearts  once  thus 
vent  itself  in  fervent,  persevering  prayer  for  their 
sovereign,  and  who  shall  say  what  benefits  may  thus 
descend  upon  her  head,  and,  through  her,  upon  her 
people  ?"  The  preacher's  address  was  closed,  and  all  rose 
and  sang  a  hymn,  a  beautifully  condensed  and  accom- 
modated paraphrase  of  the  21st  Psalm,  composed  for  the 
occasion  by  the  j)astor  himself  : — 

Lord,  Thy  best  blessings  shed 
On  our  Queen's  youthful  head; 

Round  her  abide. 
Teach  her  Thy  holy  will, 
Shield  her  from  every  ill, 
Guard,  guide,  and  speed  her  still 

Safe  to  Thy  side. 

Grant  her,  O  Lord,  to  be 
"Wise,  just,  and  good  like  Thee, 

Blessing  and  blest. 
With  every  virtue  crowned, 
Honoured  by  nations  round, 
Midst  earthly  monarchs  found 

Greatest  and  best. 

Long  let  her  people  share 
Here  her  maternal  care  ; 

Long  'neath  her  smile 
May  every  good  increase. 
May  every  evil  cease, 
And  freedom,  health  and  peace 

Dance  round  our  isle. 

Under  Thy  mighty  wings 
Keep  her,  0  King  of  kings ! 

Answer  her  prayer : 
Till  she  shall  hence  remove 
Up  to  Thy  courts  above, 
To  dwell  in  light  and  love 

Evermore  there. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SONGS    IN   FSISON. 

"  From  the  freed  spirit  every  shackle  falls, 
Earth's  gloom  is  lost  in  heaven's  glorious  light." 

Who  would  not  like  to  have  lieard  that  miduiglit  song  of 
Paul  and  Silas  in  the  prison  at  Pliilippi  ?     With  bodies 
lacerated  by  the  executioner's  whip,  and  cast  upon  the  bare 
floor  of  the  dungeon  under  the  torturing  burden  of  the 
Poman  stocks,  parched  and  weary  after  a  day's  labour, 
excitement,  and  abuse,  whither  should  they  look  for  help 
and   comfort?      They  knew   their  refuge,   and,    "having 
prayed,  they  sang  a  hymn  to  God,  and  the  prisoners  heard 
them."     They  sang  heartily,   "with  the  spirit  and  with 
the  understanding  also."      Their  hymn  is  not  recorded; 
but  we  may  be  sure  that  Jesus  was  its  leading  theme,  that 
they   uttered  their  theme   distinctly  enough  for  the  pri- 
soners to  know  what  they  were  singing  about,  and  that 
the  spirit  of  their  hymn  and  its  rhythm,  its  manner  and  its 
music,  were  such  as  accorded  most  fully  with  the  simple, 
childlike  devotion  of  the  unselfish  and  heavenly-minded 
prisoners.     Had  their  strain  come  down  to  our  ears   with 
sufficient  clearness  and    certainty   to    allow  us  to  render 
it  into  English  metre  or  rhyme,  it  might  have  appeared 
somewhat  similar  to  an   ancient  hymn  which  broke  forth 
from  the  bars  of  a  prison  a  few  centuries  later.     It  was  on 
a  Palm  Sunday,  about  seven  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
Paul's   song   in   the  prison.       The   Emperor   Louis,    the 
Debonnaire,    and   his  Court,  were   on  their   way   to   the 
cathedral  at  Mentz  in  full  procession,  and,  when  passing  a 
dungeon,  the  following  hymn  issued  from  an  open  window, 
and  was  tkken  up  by  the  choristers: — 


SONGS  IN  PRISON. 


117 


Glory,  and  honour,  and  praise, 

To  Thee,  our  Redeemer  and  King ; 
To  -whom  little  children  sang  lays, 

To  whom  our  hosannas  we  bring. 

Pavid's  own  heir  to  the  throne 

Of  Israel's  royal  domain; 
Thou  Blessed  One,  come  to  Thine  own, 

Thy  kingdom  for  ever  maintain  ! 

Angelical  choirs  above 

Sing  glory  to  Thee  from  on  high  ; 
And  mortals  and  all  things  that  move 

Give  anthems  and  songs  in  reply. 

Those  Hebrew  people  of  old 

Went  singing  before  Thee  with  psalms ; 

With  prayers  and  praises  untold. 
We,  too,  will  be  waving  our  palms  ! 

While  hastening  on  to  Thy  death, 

They  loudly  uplifted  their  voice ; 
But  we  with  our  every  breath, 

In  Thy  exaltation  rejoice. 

Fragrant  to  Thee  was  their  praise, 

Oh  smile  on  the  offering  we  bring  ; 
Thy  joy  is  in  all  pleasant  lays, 

Thou  Blessed  and  All-gracious  King ! 

This  was  the  prison  song  of  Theodulph  of  Orleans,  after- 
wards named  in  the  calendar  as  a  "  saint"  ;  and  not  with- 
out some  reason,  for  he  was  a  saintly  man.  Like  many 
other  saintly  men,  he  had  incurred  the  ill-will  of  those  on 
whom  his  goodness  reflected  reproof,  and  suffered  impri- 
sonment on  the  testimony  of  false  accusers.  His  hymn 
from  the  prison,  however,  touched  the  heart  of  Charle- 
magne's imperial  son,  and  the  persecuted  bishop,  like  Paul 
and  Silas,  found  the  joy  of  deliverance  coming  after  his 
song.  Those  who  have  Christian  cheerfulness  enough  to 
begin  their  hymns  in  the  straits  of  tribulation  will  often 
find  themselves  swelling  the  chorus  "in  a  large  place." 

Songs  in  prison !  who  can  think  of  them  without  some 
thought  about  the  "  beloved  disciple,"  the  last  of  his  order, 
the  aj)0stle  of  love,  in  his  banishment,  his  narrow  sea-girt 
prison.  Shut  up  "for  the  word  of  God,  and  for  the  testi- 
mony of  Jesus  Christ,"  he  had  songs  nevertheless.  His 
Patmos  was  "compassed  about  with  songs  of  deliverance  " ; 
songs  frooi  the  New  Jerusalem ;  songs  that  for  ever  filled 


118  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIK  HYMNS. 

his  heart  with  responsive  music.  How  his  soul  must  have 
repeated  the  hymns  which  he  had  caught  in  his  vision  of 
the  Holy  City  !  His  record  of  the  vision  is  a  lofty  hymn, 
' whose  music  lives  for  ever.  "And  I  John  saw  the  holy 
city,  New  Jerusalem,  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven, 
prepared  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband.  And  I  heard 
a  great  voice  out  of  heaven  saying.  Behold,  the  tabernacle 
of  God  is  with  men,  and  He  will  dwell  with  them,  and 
they  shall  be  His  people ;  and  God  Himself  shall  be  with 
them,  and  be  their  God.  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears  from  their  eyes;  and  there  shall  be  no  death,  neither 
sorrow  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain  : 
for  the  former  things  are  passed  away."  How  many 
suffering  Christians,  from  generation  to  generation  since 
"the  Lord's-day"  of  the  apostle's  vision,  have  caught  the 
light  of  the  city  from  the  narrow  windows  of  their  prison- 
house  in  the  flesh.  Into  how  many  a  deep  cell  has  his 
ever-living  vision  shed  its  cheering  radiance!  Some  frag- 
ments of  one  "prisoner's  song"  have  come  to  our  ears, 
witnessing  to  the  power  of  Christian  hope  in  giving  the 
soul  a  refreshing  sense  of  its  heavenly  freedom,  even  while 
the  body  is  j)ining  in  bondage.  The  prisoner  solaced  him- 
self in  his  loneliness  by  writing  and  singing  of  the  New 
Jerusalem.  HapjDy  man !  his  cell  became  his  little  heaven, 
while  he  was  preparing  for  a  "better  inheritance."  Some 
cell  in  that  storied  old  "Tower"  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames  was  often  illumed  by  a  light  from  the  distant 
home,  towards  which  the  imprisoned  citizen  of  heaven  was 
daily  and  nightly  turning  his  longing  eyes.  It  was  there, 
probably,  towards  the  end  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  that  a  long 
prison  song  was  written  by  F.  B.  P.,  alias  Francis  Baker. 
His  hymn  found  a  home  in  the  British  Museum.  It  is  too 
long  to  be  sung  every  hour,  but  it  had  too  much  life  to  stay, 
all  of  it,  in  its  Museum  cell.  Precious  bits  have  slipped 
out  into  tuneful  liberty,  and  have  found  their  way  into 
thousands  of  hearts,  north  and  south,  in  the  Old  World  and 
in  the  New,  How  many  a  prisoner  of  hope  has  been 
heard  singing — 

Jerusalem,  my  liappy  home. 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  au  end, 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see  'i 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  119 

Oh  happy  harbour  of  the  saints ! 

Oh  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 
In  Thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found, 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

There  lust  and  lucre  cannot  dwell. 

There  envy  bears  no  sway ; 
There  is  no  hunger,  heat,  nor  cold, 

But  pleasure  every  way. 

Thy  walls  are  made  of  precious  stones. 

Thy  bulwarks  diamonds  square  ; 
Thy  gates  are  of  right  orient  pearl, 

Exceeding  rich  and  rare. 

Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 

With  carbuncles  do  shine  ; 
Thy  very  streets  are  paved  with  gold. 

Surpassing  clear  and  fine. 

Oh,  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee  ! 
Would  God,  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see  ! 

Thy  saints  are  crown'd  with  glory  great ; 

They  see  God  face  to  face  ; 
They  triumph  still,  they  still  rejoice, 

Most  happy  in  their  case. 

We  that  are  here  in  banishment 

Continually  do  moan. 
We  sigh,  and  sob,  we  weep,  and  wail. 

Perpetually  we  groan. 

Our  sweet  is  mix'd  with  bitter  gall, 

Our  pleasure  is  but  pain, 
Our  joys  scarce  last  the  looking  on, 

Our  sorrows  still  remain. 

But  there  they  live  in  such  delight, 

Such  pleasure  and  such  play; 
As  that  to  them  g,  thousand  years 

Doth  seem  as  yesterday. 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 

Continually  are  green, 
There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 

Quite  through  the  street  with  silver  sound 

The  flood  of  life  doth  flow ; 
Upon  whose  banks  on  every  side. 

The  wood  of  life  doth  grow. 


120  HYMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

There  trees  for  evermore  bear  fruit 

And  evermore  do  spring  ; 
There  evermore  the  angels  sit, 

And  evermore  do  sing. 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
"Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end. 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see  ! 

Many  versions  of  this  "prisoner's  lij-mn"  have  found 
their  way  into  different  parts  of  Europe;  and  many  a  home 
and  many  a  prison,  it  may  be,  have  been  made  the  happier 
by  its  simple  soothing  tones,  and  its  tuneful  alternations  of 
plaintiveness  and  triumph.  Snatches  of  it  used  to  be  heard 
among  the  hills  and  glens  of  Scotland.  They  lived  in  the 
memory  and  heart  of  many  a  Scotch  mother;  and  seem  to 
have  been  sung  as  devout  and  cheering  accompaniments  to 
the  daily  duties  of  cottage  life.  Nor  was  this  without  good 
fruit  even  in  distant  lands — fruit  that  sprang  up  far  away 
from  the  spot  where  the  seed  first  fell.  A  young  Scotch- 
man who  was  on  his  death-bed  at  New  Orleans,  says  the 
American  biograjiher  of  Whitefield,  was  visited  by  a  Pres- 
byterian minister,  but  continued  for  a  time  to  shut  himself 
up  against  all  the  good  man's  efforts  to  reach  his  heart. 
Somewhat  discouraged,  at  last  the  visitor  turned  away, 
and  scarcely  knowing  why,  unless  it  was  for  his  own  com- 
fort, began  to  sing,  "Jerusalem,  my  happy  home."  That 
was  enough,  a  tender  chord  was  touched.  The  young 
patient's  heart  was  broken  ;  and  with  bursting  tears  he 
said,  "  Mj^  dear  mother  used  to  sing  that  hymn."  His 
softened  spirit  was  now  open  to  his  Eedeemer.  Jesus  g^ve 
the  penitent  peace  ;  and  hope  threw  light  upon  his  passage 
to  the  city  which  is  now  for  ever  the  "  hajipy  home  "  of  his 
mother  and  her  son.  The  prisoner,  too,  whose  song  went 
out  from  the  Tower  to  fulfil  such  heavenly  missions,  now 
enjoys  the  city  of  his  desire;  and  many  have  gathered 
around  him  there,  whose  way  thither  had  been  brightened 
by  the  music  of  his  hymn.  And  there  he  has  met  with 
others,  once  psalmists  like  himself  in  prison,  but  now  at 
large  to  commune  amidst  the  joys  of  immortal  freedom, 
ancl  to  watch  the  accumulatingfruit  of  their  prison  psalmody. 
Among  the  rest  is  one  rapt  spirit,  the  spirit  of  a  sainted 
lady  who  now  realizes  the  truth  of  her  Saviour's  words, 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  *  121 

"  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you  and  persecute 
you,  and  shall  say  all  manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely, 
for  my  sake.  Eejoice,  and  be  exceeding  glad:  for  great  is 
your  reward  in  heaven." 

Jane  Marie  Bouviers  de  la  Mathe  Guion  was  a  suf- 
ferer for  Christ;  and  was  in  one  sense  a  martyr  for 
the  honour  of  the  Blessed  Spirit.  "In  the  time  of  the 
ancient  law,"  as  she  herself  remarks,  "there  were 
several  of  the  Lord's  martyrs,  who  suffered  for  asserting 
and  trusting  in  the  one  true  Grod.  In  the  primitive 
Church  of  Christ,  the  martyrs  shed  their  blood  for 
maintaining  the  truth  of  Jesus  Christ  crucified ;  but 
now  there  are  martyrs  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  suffer  for 
their  dependence  on  Him,  for  maintaining  His  reign  in 
souls,  and  for  being  subject  to  the  Divine  will.  .  .  .  The 
devil  now  directly  attacks  the  dominion  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
opposing  His  celestial  unction  in  souls,  and  discharging  his 
hatred  on  the  bodies  of  those  whose  minds  he  cannot  hurt." 
Like  many  others  whose  spiritiiality  has  been  too  high  and 
full  for  a  carnal  world  and  a  worldly  Church,  she  was  called 
to  suffer  from  human  efforts  to  repress  and  shut  up  the 
overflowings  of  "  perfect  love."  She  was  imprisoned  for 
her  spiritual-mindedness  and  her  uncontrollable  zeal  for 
a  religion  of  inward  spirit  and  power.  Bom  on  Easter 
Eve,  April  13,  1648,  at  Montargis,  about  50  miles  south  of 
Paris,  of  gentle  blood,  tender  and  delicate  constitution, 
and  trained  in  a  style  which  prepared  her  for  intercourse 
with  frequenters  at  court,  while  it  made  her  familiar  with 
the  sorrows  of  ill-tempered  government  at  home ;  this 
distinguished  woman  entered  on  her  remarkable  course  of 
suffering,  discipline,  and  activity,  in  her  sixteenth  year, 
when,  as  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  she  was  made  the  victim  of 
convenience,  by  marriage  with  an  elderly  gentleman,  who 
in  conjunction  with  his  mother  ruled  her  as  a  pupil  if  not 
a  slave.  Her  decided  conversion  to  vital  Christianity, 
however,  very  soon  laid  the  foundation  of  that  exemplary 
piety,  charity,  and  devotion,  which  she  sustained  for  so 
many  years  as  a  wife,  a  mother,  a  widow,  and  a  consecrated 
evangelist  for  Christ.  The  instrument  of  her  conversion 
was  a  modest  but  devoted  religious  recluse,  who  quietly 
dropped  a  passing  word  to  her  on  the  subject  of  inward 
godliness.      It  was  "  a  word  in  season."      She  had  been 


122  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

groping  after  truth,  feeling  after  God ;  but  those  few 
"  good  words"  opened  the  blessed  to  her  heart.  "  They 
were  unto  me,"  she  says,  "like  the  stroke  of  a  dart,  which 
pierced  my  heart  asunder.  I  felt  at  the  instant  a  wound 
very  deep,  smitten  with  the  love  of  God ;  a  wound  so 
delightful  that  I  desired  it  never  to  be  cured.  These 
words  brought  into  my  heart  what  I  had  been  seeking  so 
many  years.  ...  0  infinite  goodness  !  0  Beauty  ancient 
and  new !  why  have  I  known  Thee  so  late  ?  Alas  !  I 
sought  Thee  where  Thou  wast  not,  and  did  not  seek  Thee 
where  Thou  wast.  It  was  for  want  of  understanding  these 
words  of  Thy  gospel,  '  The  kingdom  of  God  cometh  not 
with  observation  ;  neither  shall  they  say,  lo  here,  or  lo 
there ;  for  behold  the  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you.' 
This  I  now  ex]Derienced,  since  Thou  became  my  King,  and 
my  heart  Thy  kingdom,  where  Thou  didst  reign  as  sove- 
reign, and  didst  all  Thy  will.  This  fell  out  on  Magdalen's 
Day,  1668."  On  Magdalen's  Eve,  1676,  her  husband 
died,  and  on  the  following  morning  she  renewed  what  she 
called  her  marriage-contract  with  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
"  I  renewed  it  every  year,"  she  writes,  "on  Magdalen's 
Day."  She  proved  herself  equal  to  all  the  business  of 
settling  her  husband's  affairs  ;  and  then,  she  gave  herself 
as  a  "  widow  indeed  "  to  the  work  of  proclaiming  the  sal- 
vation which  she  had  foimd,  and  of  gathering  souls  for 
her  Divine  Lord.  Full  of  spiritual  power  and  love,  she 
went  everywhere,  wherever  her  way  was  open,  in  France 
and  in  Italy;  and  under  great  bodily  suffering,  "in  j)erils  of 
waters,  in  perils  of  robbers,  in  perils  by  her  own  country- 
men, in  perils  of  the  city,  in  j^erils  of  the  wilderness,  in 
perils  among  false  brethren,"  and  false  sisters,  "in  weari- 
ness and  painfulness,  in  watchings  often,  and  in  fastings 
often,"  she  prayed,  and  exhorted,  and  taught,  and  pei- 
suaded,  until  in  convents,  in  monasteries,  in  homes,  by  the 
way,  wherever  she  came  indeed,  the  fruit  of  her  labours 
multiplied  in  many  souls  saved  from  sin,  and  brought  to 
love  Christ  with  all  their  heart,  and  to  commune  with  the 
Father  and  the  Son  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Her  writings 
were  voluminous,  and  these  brought  upon  her,  at  last,  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities  of  the  day.  Her  soul-converting 
power  excited  the  wrath  of  many  ;  but  her  writings,  not  in 
all  points  accurate,  and  never  to  be  understood  by  those 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  ]  23 

who  were  most  forward  to  judge,  afforded  seeming  reason 
for  tliat  continued  persecution  which  resulted,  at  length, 
in  her  consignment  to  prison  by  order  of  the  king.  She 
was  at  first  consigned  to  a  convent,  under  the  cruel  over- 
sight of  a  severe  nun  ;  her  child  was  torn  from  her,  and 
all  comforts  were  withdrawn;  but  she  had  "an  interior 
joy  at  her  new  humiliation."  By  and  by,  however,  after 
various  examinations  by  church  dignitaries,  she  was 
thrown  into  the  prison  at  Yincennes.  "  There,"  she  tells 
us,  "I  passed  my  time  in  great  peace,  content  to  pass  the 
rest  of  my  life  there,  if  svich  were  the  will  of  God.  I  sang 
songs  of  joy,  which  the  maid  who  served  me  learned  by 
heart,  as  fast  as  I  made  them;  and  we  together  sang  Thy 
praises,  0  my  God !  The  stones  of  my  prison  looked  in 
m.y  eyes  like  rubies.  I  esteemed  them  more  than  all  the 
gaudy  brilliancies  of  the  world.  My  heart  was  full  of 
that  joy.  Thou  givest  to  them  that  love  Thee  in  the  midst 
of  their  greatest  crosses."  The  free  music  of  her  hymn, 
and  her  warm  and  flowing  devotion,  move  us  even  now  as 
she  and  her  maid  sing — 

Great  G-od,  here  at  ease, 
Thee  singly  to  please, 

I  sing  all  the  length  of  the  day ; 
Shut  up  in  a  cage, 
Yet  sheltered  from  rage, 

Oh  listen  and  smile  on  the  lay ! 

From  sorrow  released. 
With  solace  increased, 

The  bars  of  my  prison  I  love ; 
All  toil  here  untried, 
All  wants  well  supplied, 

I  am  blest  and  em-iehed  from  above. 

What  if  aliens  are  prone 
To  despise,  as  unknown, 

A  language  in  heaven  understood  ? 
'Tis  a  feast  to  the  taste 
Of  the  soul  that  is  chaste, 

As  it  flows  from  the  fountain  of  good.  ^ 

Tho'  my  foes  have  combined, 
And  my  body  confined, 

Yet  my  soul  is  with  liberty  blest ; 
I  am  humbly  content 
With  whatever  is  sent, 

For  I  know  that  Thy  pleasui-e  is  best. 


1  24  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Oil  pleasure  divine, 
All  excellence  Thine, 

And  Thee  will  I  love  and  adore  ; 
The  more  piercing  my  pain, 
The  more  freedom  I  gain. 

And  of  every  choice  blessing  the  more. 

Accept  then,  1  pray, 
The  tribute  I  pay, 

I  sing,  as  a  bird  full  of  joy  ; 
Vivacious,  exposed. 
In  a  cage  when  enclosed. 

His  warbling  effusions  employ. 

Grant  my  hymns  uttered  here, 
Melodious  to  cheer, 

Tho'  tend'rer  and  softer  than  fine ; 
And  the  strength  ever  deign 
Of  my  life  to  sustain. 

Of  that  durable  life  which  is  Thine. 

Thy  wondrous  defence 
Makes  a  cell  seem  immense — 

It  sheds  so  peculiar  a  grace ; 
Such  a  pleasure  abounds. 
Such  a  glory  surrounds. 

And  the  joys  of  Thy  kingdom  embrace. 

All  my  foes  I  behold. 

All  the  stout  and  the  bold. 

Perplexing  their  hearts  with  their  pain ; 
Confounded,  I  see, 
While  happily  free, 

How  they  vent  all  their  furies  in  vain ! 

With  a  spirit  tlms  unsubdued,  and  a  soul  tlius  joyfully 
communing  with  the  heaven  which  the  storms  of  persecu- 
tion never  disturb,  she  found  her  enemies  still  unwearied 
with  the  efforts  of  their  false  zeal.  They  kept  her  in 
prison  several  years  in  a  sick  and  suffering  condition. 
Her  keepers  in  every  case  learnt  to  respect  and  love  her ; 
and  then,  to  avert  the  danger  of  such  attachments,  she  was 
moved  from  prison  to  prison.  Now  at  Vincennes,  then  at 
Yaugirard,  and  from  Vaugirard  to  the  Bastile.  Still  her 
truthfulness  was  clear,  her  purity  was  transparent,  and 
her  unsullied  character  as  a  Christian  convinced  even  the 
gainsayers.  Her  songs,  too,  were  unfailing.  Nor  was  the 
notorious  Bastile  left  unsanctified  by  a  hymn.  There  she 
sang — 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  125 

My  dearest  Protector,  see  how  tliey  detain 
My  life  in  a  dungeon  !     Yet  let  me  remain 
While  such  is  Thy  pleasure  :  for  better  no  doubt 
In  a,  prison  with  Thee  than  a.  palace  without ! 

No  thought  in  my  heart  dares  to  lift  up  its  head, 

But  the  thought  which  to  love,  and  to  serve  Thee,  is  led. 

I  wish'd  to  be  Thine  from  my  tenderest  age  : 

No  lovers  beside  have  I  sought  to  engage  ; 

No  slender  supports  of  the  loftiest  reeds  ; 

No  trust  in  their  words,  and  no  hope  of  their  deeds. 

In  every  probation,  to  Thee  the  recourse 

Of  my  soul,  in  Thy  grace  is  its  only  resource. 

What  else  can  I  do,  so  surrounded  with  foes, 

But  fly  to  Thy  goodness  which  heals  all  my  woes  ? 

When  my  hair  shall  grow  white,  and  infirmities  shake 
This  old  shatter'd  fabric.  Thou  wilt  not  forsake. 

I  was  formerly  pain'd  when  I  saw  night  and  day, 
What  innocence  suffered  in  walking  her  way ; 
But  since  I  have  learn'd,  we  are  summon'd  to  prove 
By  the  weight  of  our  suffering  the  weight  of  our  love. 

Love  perfect  and  pure  goes  farther  than  thought ; 
None  knows,  till  he  proves  it,  how  dear  'twill  be  Ijought ; 
Yet  'tis  well  worth  its  price,  and  a  thousand  times  more, 
Since  it  brings  us  to  heaven  when  our  labours  are  o'er. 

The  imprisoned  sufferer  was  happy  in  the  will  of  Grod ; 
but  she  felt  herself  called  ceaselessly  to  demand  a  fair 
trial,  that  her  crime,  if  there  were  any,  might  be  ojDenly 
specified  and  proved.  The  only  response  to  her  appeals 
seems  to  have  been  an  inquisitorial  process  of  inquiry  for 
some  evidence  to  damage  her  case.  All,  however,  was 
vain ;  her  character  was  stainless.  She  was  dismissed 
from  prison;  but  because  of  the  alleged  doubtfulness  of 
her  doctrines,  they  banished  her  to  Blois,  where  for  nearly 
twelve  years  her  example  shed  the  calm  and  j)ure  light  of 
a  Christian  eventide,  and  in  the  end  left  bright  memorials 
of  its  holiness  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  her.  She  died 
in  peace  amidst  a  few  of  her  best  friends.  Some  of 
Madame  Gruion's  teachings  would  have  seemed  less  doubt- 
ful, it  may  be,  had  her  terminology  been  fully  understood  ; 
or  had  her  mode  of  expression  been  less  symbolical  and 
dreamy.  Her  experience  as  a  Christian  was  not  far  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  many  other  highly  spiritual  Christians 


126  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

who  have  never  been  accused  of  an  aj)proach  to  error. 
"  Perfect  love,  "  in  all  ages,  bears  the  same  Divine  impress. 
Some  of  Madame  Gruion's  last  sayings  must  ever  secure  a 
hallowed  memory  for  her  name.  "Nothing,"  says  she, 
"is  greater  than  God,  nothing  less  than  myself.  He  is 
rich,  I  am  poor ;  and  yet  I  want  nothing.  Life  or  death 
is  equal  to  me  ;  God  is  love.  I  want  nothing  but  God  and 
His  glory."  The  leading  notion  of  her  theology,  if  she 
may  be  said  to  teach  theology,  is  given  in  her  "  Spiritual 
Torrents."  "  As  soon  as  a  soul  is  touched  of  God  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  return  to  Him  in  all  sincerity,  after  the 
first  purgation,  or  cleansing,  which  confession  and  contrition 
have  made,  God  gives  it  a  certain  instinct  for  turning  to 
Him  in  a  more  perfect  manner,  to  be  united  to  Him  ;  as  it 
then  clearly  sees  that  it  was  not  created  for  the  amusements 
and  trifles  of  the  world,  but  that  it  has  a  centre,  to  which 
it  must  strive  to  return,  and  out  of  which  it  can  never  find 
true  repose."  That  her  holiness  was  truly  Christian  is 
seen  in  her  last  words  to  her  many  spiritual  children : 
"  Oh,  my  dear  children,  open  your  eyes  to  the  light  of 
truth.  '  Holy  Father,  sanctify  them  through  Thy  truth.' 
Thy  Divine  Word  has  spoken  to  them  through  my  mouth. 
Christ  alone  is  the  Truth.  He  said  of  His  apostles,  '  For 
their  sakes  I  sanctify  myself,  that  they  also  may  be  sanc- 
tified through  the  truth.'  Oh,  say  the  same  thing  to  my 
children.  Sanctify  Thyself  in  them  and  for  them.  It  is 
being  truly  sanctified  in  all  holiness,  to  have  none  of  our 
own,  but  only  the  holiness  of  Jesus  Christ.  Let  Him  alone 
be  all  in  all  in  us,  and  for  us,  that  the  work  of  sanctification 
may  be  carried  on  through  the  experimental  knowledge  of 

the  Divine   truth My  children,   receive  the 

instruction  from  your  mother,  and  it  will  procure  you  life. 
Receive  it  through  her,  not  as  for  her,  but  as  of  and  for 
God.     Amen.     Lord  Jesus  Christ."     Amen! 

Give!  glory  to  Jesus,  our  Head, 

With  all  that  encompass  His  throne  ; 

A  widow,  a  widow  indeed, 
A  mother  in  Israel  is  gone ! 


Rejoice  for  a  sister  deceased, 
Our  loss  is  her  infinite  gain  ; 

A  soul  out  of  prison  released, 
And  free  from  its  bodily  chain. 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  127 

"With  song  let  us  follow  her  flight, 

And  mount  with  her  spirit  above, 
Escaped  to  the  mansions  of  light, 

And  lodged  in  the  Eden  of  love. 

It  is  pleasant  to  read  the  songs  of  a  prisoner  who  has 
learned  to  be  happy  in  prison ;  and  the  pleasure  is  greater 
when  the  hymns  come  from  a  "  jirisoner  of  Jesus  Christ" — 
one  who  suffers  bondage  purely  for  Christ's  sake.  But 
even  that  pleasure  is  equalled,  if  not  surpassed,  by  the  joy 
with  which  we  joy  over  that  goodness  of  heart,  that  over- 
flowing charity  which  constrains  a  man  to  task  his  genius  in 
providing  appropriate,  instructive,  and  cheery  prison  hymns 
for  those  who  have  neither  heart  nor  genius  to  compose 
hymns  for  themselves,  or  in  teaching  those  who  have  merited 
imprisonment  so  to  sing  as  to  beguile  their  hours  of 
confinement,  to  make  legal  penalties  contribute  to  their 
heart's  welfare,  and  to  prepare  themselves  while  in  bondage 
for  the  privileges  and  duties  of  freedom.  Such  is  the  joy 
which  must  bless  those  who  tune  themselves  for  com- 
panionship with  the  man  under  whose  striking  old  portrait 
the  lover  of  quaint  but  well-strung  psalmody  may  read — 

So  this  is  he  whose  infant  muse  began 

To  brave  the  world  before  years  styled  him  man  ; 

Though  praise  be  slight,  and  scorns  to  make  his  rhymes 

Beg  favours  or  opinion  of  the  times, 

Yet  few  by  good  men  have  been  more  approved 

None  so  unseen,  so  generally  loved. 

A  very  good  character,  especially  for  a  man  whose  sym- 
pathy with  prisoners  was  strengthened  by  his  own  ex- 
perience as  a  prisoner,  having  been  in  "durance  vile" 
three  successive  times — once  for  wi-iting  a  little  too  freely 
as  some  people  thought,  about  public  abuses  ;  a  second  time 
because  he  chose  to  be  a  "roundhead,"  while  some  of  his 
more  powerful  neighbours  lorded  it  as  cavaliers  ;  and  once 
more  because  it  was  thought  impertinent  for  him  to  remon- 
strate against  being  stripped  of  the  sj^oils  which  he  had 
picked  up  while  he  happened  to  stand  on  the  winning  side  of 
the  game.  His  second  period  of  bondage  might  have  been 
fatal  but  for  the  plea  of  a  fellow-poet,  Denham,  who  wore 
royalist  colours.  "  Let  him  live, "  was  the  plea,  "  for  while 
he  lives  I  shall  not  be  thought  the  worst  poet.  "     It  was  a 


128  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

good  joke,  for  it  saved  a  good  life  ;  and  Greorge  Wither 
lived  to  show  his  tuneful  sympathy  with  poor  prisoners. 
"Men  in  affliction,  "  says  he,  very  kindly,  "  are  somewhat 
easier  when  they  can  find  words  whereby  to  express  their 
sufferings ;  to  help  them  who  want  expression  of  their 
endurance  in  imprisonment,  and  to  remember  prisoners  of 
such  meditations  as  are  pertinent  to  their  condition,  is  the 
intent  of  this  hymn  :  " — 

I  whom  of  late 

No  thraldom  did  molest, 
Of  that  estate 

Am  wholly  dispossess' d  : 
My  feet  once  free, 

Are  strictly  now  confined, 
Which  breeds  in  me 

A  discontented  mind. 

Those  prospects  f  air 

Which  I  was  wont  to  have, 
That  wholesome  air 

Which  fields  and  meadows  gave, 
Are  changed  now 

For  close,  unpleasant  cells, 
Where  secret  woe 

And  open  sorrow  dwells. 

Instead  of  strains 

Delightful  to  mine  ear, 
Gyves,  bolts,  and  chains 

Are  all  my  music, here ; 
And  ere  I  get 
1  Those  things  for  which  I  pray, 

I  must  entreat 

With  patience  in  delay. 

To  feed  or  sleep, 

To  work  or  take  mine  ease, 
I  now  must  keep 

Such  hoiu-s  as  others  please  ; 
To  make  me  sad, 

Complaints  are  likewise  heard, 
And  often  made 

Of  wrongs  without  regard. 

Lord  !  as  I  ought 

My  freedom  had  I  used. 
Of  this,  no  doubt, 

I  might  have  been  excused : 


SONGS  IN  PEISON.  129 

But  I  confess 

The  merit  of  my  sin 
Deserves  no  less  , 

Than  hath  inflicted  been. 

Let  me,  O  God ! 

My  sin  Thine  anger  move ; 
But  let  this  rod 

Correct  my  faults  in  love  : 
With  patient  mind 

Let  me  Thy  stripes  endure, 
And  freedom  find 

"When  they  have  wrought  their  cure. 

Whilst  here  I  'bide 

Though  I  unworthy  be, 
Do  Thou  provide 

All  needful  things  for  me : 
And  though  friends  grow 

Unkind  in  my  distress, 
Yet  leave  not  Thou 

Thy  servant  comfortless. 

So  though  in  thrall 

My  body  must  remain, 
In  mind  I  shall 

Some  freedom  stUl  retain  ; 
And  wiser  made 

By  this  restraint  shall  be. 
Than  if  I  had 

Until  my  death  been  free. 

Tender-hearted  Wither!  This  hymn,  which  in  his 
gentleness  he  offers  to  the  lips  and  heart  of  a  prisoner  as  a 
devout  mode  of  beguiling  his  solitary  hours,  was  doubtless 
the  very  song  of  his  own  soul,  under  the  rigours  of  his 
unalleviated  confinement,  and  in  the  damp  and  gloomy 
atmosphere  of  his  comfortless  dungeon.  His  were  hard 
times  ;  ■  and  those  who  got  the  upper  hand  sometimes  for- 
got their  own  sufferings  in  their  turn.  It  was  not  easy, 
however,  to  clip  or  singe  the  wings  of  Wither's  muse. 
Some  of  his  best  verses  were  made  in  the  Marshalsea  ;  and 
we  cannot  but  pay  honourable  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the 
man  who,  while  he  helped  those  who  had  less  genius  and 
fewer  resources  than  himself  to  sing  with  him,  cheered  on 
his  own  muse  in  a  style  hke  this — 

If  thy  verse  do  bravely  tower. 

As  she  makes  wing  she  gets  power  ; 


130  HYMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Yet  the  higher  she  doth  soar, 

She  's  affronted  still  the  more  ; 

Till  she  to  the  high'st  hath  past, 

Then  she  rests  with  fame  at  last : 

Let  naught,  therefore,  thee  affright, 

But  make  forward  in  thy  flight ; 

For,  if  I  could  match  thy  rhyme, 

To  the  very  stars  I'd  climb ; 

There  begin  again,  and  fly 

Till  I  reached  eternity. 

But  alas  !  my  muse  is  slow ; 

For  thj^  page  she  flags  too  low : 

Yea,  the  more's  her  hapless  fate. 

Her  short  wings  were  clipt  of  late ; 

And  poor  I,  her  fortune  rueing-, 

Am  myself  put  up  a-mewing  ; 

But  if  I  my  cage  can  rid, 

I'll  fly  where  I  never  did ; 

And  though  for  her  sake  I'm  crost, 

Though  my  best  hopes  I  have  lost, 

And  knew  she  would  make  me  trouble 

Ten  times  more  than  ten  times  double  : 

I  should  love  and  keep  her  too, 

Spite  of  all  the  world  could  do. 

For,  though  banish' d  from  my  flocks, 

And  confiu'd  within  these  rocks, 

Here  I  waste  away  the  light. 

And  consume  the  sullen  night, 

She  doth  for  my  comfort  stay. 

And  keeps  many  cares  away. 

She  doth  tell  me  where  to  borrow 
Comfort  in  the  midst  of  sorrow  ; 
Makes  the  desolatest  place 
To  her  presence  be  a  grace ; 
And  the  blackest  discontents 
Be  her  fairest  ornaments. 
In  my  former  days  of  bliss. 
Her  divine  skill  taught  me  this, 
That,  from  everything  I  saw, 
I  could  some  invention  draw  ; 
And  raise  pleasure  to  her  height, 
Through  the  meanest  object's  sight : 
By  the  murmur  of  a  spring, 
Or  the  least  bough's  rustleing ; 
By  a  daisy,  whose  leaves  spread, 
shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed ; 
Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree. 
She  could  more  infuse  in  me. 
Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can 
In  some  other  wiser  man. 


SONGS  IN  PRISON.  131 

By  her  help  I  also  now 

Make  this  churlish  place  allow 

Some  things  that  may  sweeten  gladness, 

In  the  very  gall  of  sadness. 

The  dull  loneness,  the  black  shade, 

That  these  hanging  vaults  have  made  ; 

The  strange  music  of  the  waves, 

Beating  in  these  hollow  caves  ; 

This  black  den  which  rocks  emboss. 

Overgrown  with  eldest  moss  ; 

The  rude  portals  that  give  light 

More  to  terror  than  delight ; 

This  my  chamber  of  neglect. 

Walled  about  with  disrespect ; — 

"From  all  these  and  this  dull  air, 

A  fit  object  for  despair, 

She  hath  taught  me  by  her  might 

To  draw  comfort  and  delight. 

Therefore,  thou  best  earthly  bliss, 

I  will  cherish  thee  for  this. 

"Well  sung,  "Wither  !  He  lias  broken  his  prison  ;  he  has 
reached  the  home  of  freedom,  and  now  drinks  at  its  very 
source  the  inspiration  which  still  gives  life  to  his  best 
hymns.     Let  his  name  be  wreathed  with  peace  ! 


CHAPTEE  X. 

PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE. 

"  As  through  Thy  temple  now  the  deep  strains  peal, 
And  choral  minstrelsy  is  heard  to  swell, 
Devotion  wakes  within  ns,  and  we  feel' 

All  that  the  Psalmist  hath  expressed  so  well." 

How  few  among  the  legion  of  modern  versifiers  have  ever 

caught  either  the  spirit  or  the  manner  of  the  sacred  old 

hymns,  which  they  have  tried  to  throw  into  English  metre. 

With  few  exceptions,  those  who  have  aimed  at  a  literal 

version  of  the  Psalms  in  metre  are  tame,  and  have  lost  the 

soul  of  the  original ;  while  many  of  the  paraphrasers  are 

lacking  in  dignity,   and   excite   any  feeling   but  that    of 

devotion,  by  calling  their  neighbours  to  sing  their  psalms 

"  done  into    metre."       Sternhold  and  Hopkins   must   be 

venerated   as   we   revere   antiquity  even    in    its    dotage. 

Brady  and   Tate   are    always    associated   with   our   early 

impressions  of  old  Church  psalmody,  when  the  parish-clerk 

used  to   act  as  head  singer,  and  give  the  key-note  on  a 

doleful  instrument  that  they  called  a  pitch-pipe.     As  to 

the  music  of  the   Scotch  version,  it  is  enough  that  it  is 

admired  most  by  those  who  abominate  the  organ,  while 

they  are  agreeably  moved  by  the  notes  of  a  Highland  piper. 

It  would  be  better  to  let  the  old  Eughsh   Psalter  alone. 

Many  a  weary  poet  would  have  been  spared  his  pains,  and 

many   psalm-singers    would   have    escaped   bewilderment 

am^idst  wildernesses  of  dreary  verse,  had  due  and    wide 

attention  been  given  to  a  few  verses  from  one  whose  happily 

expressed   opinion   is   of    some    value.     An   author   who 

inherited  poetic  taste  from  a  gifted  father,  who  shared 

poetic  power  with  two  brothers  still  more  gifted,  who  had 

passed  twenty  years  of  classical  discipline  in  Westminster 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  133 

School,  and  wlio  lived  to  catch,  the  spirit  of  Hebrew 
melodies,  and  enjoy  communion  with  holy  psalmists 
among  the  inspiring  beauties  of  Devonian  valleys  and 
hills,  has  a  right  to  have  his  opinion  respected  on  the 
question  of  metrical  psalmody.  AVho  that  has  sought  out 
the  loveliest  retreats  of  our  native  island  can  ever  forget  the 
valle}^  of  the  Exe.  as  it  winds  down  from  the  borders  of 
Exmoor  to  the  old-storied  town  of  Tiverton,  overlooking 
from  its  southern  slopes  the  ancient  fords  of  the  Exe  and 
the  Leman,  lapped  amidst  orchards  and  gardens,  and  its 
streets  and  houses  refreshed  and  beautified  by  the  clear 
bright  stream  which  flows  down  through  it  from  the  upper 
springs  ?  Two  pilgrims  of  nature  once  found  their  way  to 
this  old  Two-ford-town.  One  of  them  lives  to  remember 
that,  having  lingered  about  the  remains  of  the  castle,  and 
having  mused  and  talked  over  the  fortunes  of  the  j^ensive 
daughter  of  Edward  IV.,  who  sj^ent  the  days  of  her  widow- 
hood in  its  delicious  retirement,  and  having  talked  about 
those  who  for  many  ages  had  lived,  and  sung,  and  fought, 
and  died  in  and  around  the  sturdy  fortress,  they  found 
their  wa}^,  by  an  avenue  of  venerable  trees,  into  the  famous 
grammar-school,  founded  in  1599,  by  the  will  of  Peter 
Blundell ;  and  there,  after  sundry  speculations  over  the 
ponderous  antique  oaken  desks  and  benches,  with  their 
multitudinous  records  of  penknife  work,  they  found  them- 
selves standing  in  silence  before  a  remarkable  portrait. 
It  represented  one  of  the  former  masters  of  the  school, 
nor  could  its  distinctive  family  features  be  mistaken. 
"  Look  at  that,"  said  the  one  to  the  other,  ^'  does  not  the 
face  seem  instinct  with  life  ?  It  looks  as  if  it  knew  what 
we  have  been  saying,  in  our  way  down  the  valley,  about 
the  various  efi'orts  of  people  to  produce  a  metrical  version 
of  the  Psalms.  Surely  those  lips  are  moving,  as  if  they 
would  re-utter  what  they  expressed  so  long  ago." 

"What  was  that?" 

"What?  Why,  just  listen,  and  hear  with  what  quiet 
ease  keen  polished  satire  may  be  made  to  pass  into  warm 
and  beautiful  hymnic  devotion  " — 

Has  David  Christ  to  come  foresliow'd? 

Can  Christians  then  aspire 
To  mend  the  harmony  that  iiow'd 

From  his  prophetic  lyre  P 


134  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

How  curious  are  their  wits,  and  vain, 

Their  erring  zeal  how  bold, 
Who  durst  with  meaner  dross  profane 

His  purity  of  gold  ! 

His  Psalms  unchanged  the  saints  employ, 

Unchanged  our  God  applies ; 
They  suit  th'  apostles  in  their  joy, 

The  Saviour  when  He  dies. 

Let  David's  pure  unaltered  lays 

Transmit  through  ages  down 
To  Thee,  O  David's  Lord,  our  praise  ! 

To  Thee,  O  David's  Son  ! 

Till  judgment  calls  the  seraph  throng 

To  join  the  human  choir, 
And  Grod,  who  gave  the  ancient  song. 

The  new  one  shall  inspire. 

So  thouglit  and  so  sang  Samuel  "Wesley;  thereby  some- 
wliat  condemning,  not  only  "Watts,  against  whom  chiefly 
these  lines  had  been  directed,  but  his  brother  Charles 
also — yea,  his  own  father,  and  even  himself;  for  each  of 
them  had  tried  his  powers  in  translating  or  paraphrasing 
Hebrew  psalms  into  English  rhyme.  Nor  had  Samuel 
"Wesley,  the  father,  failed  in  every  case.  His  version  of 
Psalm  cxiv.  may  be  sung  with  unbroken  pleasure — 

When  ransom' d  Israel  came 

From  faithless  Egypt's  bands, 
The  house  of  Jacob's  name 
From  foreign  hostile  lands, 
Judah  alone 
God's  holy  place, 
And  Israel's  grace 

Was  His  bright  throne. 
Amazed  old  ocean  saw, 

And  to  its  chambers  fled ; 
While  Jordan's  streams  withdraw 
To  seek  their  distant  head. 
Tall  mountains  bound 
Like  jocund  rams, 
The  hills  like  lambs 
Skipp'd  lightly  round. 

What  ail'd  thee,  0  thou  sea, 

To  leave  thine  ancient  bed  ? 
Why  did  old  Jordan  flee, 
Ajid  seek  its  distant  head  ? 
Ye  mountains,  why 
Leap'd  ye  like  rams, 
While  lulls  Like  lambs 
Skipp'd  lightly  by  ? 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  135 

All  nature's  utmost  bound 
The  God  of  Jacob's  own, 
Where  sea  or  land  is  found, 
Fall  trembling  at  His  throne  ; 
At  whose  command 
Hard  rocks  distil 
A  crystal  rill 

And  drench  the  sand. 

The  tasteful  old  rector  shows  himself  alive  to  the  grand 
simplicity,  the  condensed  power,  elegant  conciseness,  and 
noble  imagery  of  this  seeming  fragment  of  a  sublime  ode ; 
and  he  will  be  thought  to  have  approached  nearer  to  the 
original  than  his  own  son  Charles,  who  has  rendered  the 
same  psalm  more  freely,  and  in  more  pompous  measure. 
The  mind  and  pen  which  gave  its  distinctive  character  to 
the  "  Spectator"  would  naturally  feel  the  inspiration  of  a 
psalm  like  this;  and  Addison  has  remarked  that  "its 
author  has  written  so  as  deej)ly  to  impress  the  mind  of  his 
readers  by  pointing  out  miraculous  effects  without  mention- 
ing an  agent,  till  at  last,  when  the  sea  is  seen  rapidly  re- 
tiring from  the  shore,  Jordan  retreating  to  its  source,  and 
the  mountains  and  hills  running  away  like  a  flock  of 
affrighted  sheep,  that  the  passage  of  the  Israelites  might 
be  every  way  uninterrupted;  then  the  cause  of  all  is  sud 
denly  introduced,  and  the  presence  of  God  in  His  grandeur 
solves  every  difficulty."  Literature  was  Addison's  calling. 
Like  many  others  who  have  been  tempted  into  positions 
unsuited  to  their  character,  or  to  which  their  powers  have 
not  proved  equal,  Addison  found  that  marriage  into  high 
life  afforded  "no  addition  to  his  happiness,"  and  that 
elevation  to  official  state  entailed  burdens  from  which  an 
easy  and  happy  relief  is  not  always  possible.  Retreat 
alone  gave  him  the  promise  of  peace  at  the  last.  Pensioned 
and  in  retirement,  he  sought  for  solace  in  preparing  a 
"  defence  of  the  Christian  religion,"  and  in  planning  a  new 
poetical  version  of  the  Psalms.  Neither  plan  was  completed. 
And  perhaps  it  is  better  for  his  reputation,  as  a  psalmist, 
that  he  left  mere  specimen  fragments  of  his  intended  version. 

What  he  wrote  will  always  live.  Nor  is  there  in  what 
he  wrote  anything,  either  in  spirit  or  tone,  which  favours 
in  the  least  degree  the  suspicion  which  some  have  cast  upon 
his  Christian  sincerity.     His  memory  will  not  be  damaged 


136  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

by  the  unworthy  insinuations  of  Pope,  neither  will  lovers 
of  charity  think  the  worse  of  him  because  the  unsympathiz- 
ing  and  unloving  Tonson  "  always  thought  him  a  priest  in 
his  heart."  As  an  undying  minister  of  instruction  and 
pleasure  to  English  minds  and  hearts,  his  memory  will  not 
take  the  tarnish  of  contemporary  slander.  All  lovers  of 
well-applied  genius  will  love  him,  were  it  only  for  his  version 
of  Psalm  xix.  It  has  been  thought  that  the  pure  love  for 
"silently  living  nature"  which  gives  such  a  devotional 
charm  to  his  verses,  and  which  he  so  sweetly  expresses  on 
introducing  his  psalm  to  the  readers  of  the  "  Spectator," 
must  have  breathed  its  first  and  deepest  inspiration  into 
his  soul  amidst  some  of  the  quiet  scenes  of  his  boyhood. 
One  of  these  was  the  cathedral  close  at  Lichfield.  It  was 
evening  when  for  the  first  time  we  entered  that  reverend 
enclosure.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  it  was  our'  time 
of  preparation  for  the  Sabbath.  Where  could  such  an  hour 
be  more  solemnly  kept  than  amidst  the  associations  which, 
seen  and  unseen,  gathered  beneath  the  shadows  of  so 
venerable  a  sanctuary  ?  The  outer  world  was  growing 
dim,  but  everything  that  was  visible  ofi'ered  an  agreeable 
introduction  to  the  invisible.  Among  the  whisperings  which 
came  to  the  ear  of  fancy,  as  we  paced  up  and  down  that 
noble  avenue  on  the  north  side  of  the  church,  known  as  "the 
Dean's  walk,"  there  came  many  remarkable  names,  which, 
as  they  touched  us  in  succession,  called  up  some  deep  think- 
ings about  the  present  life  and  action  of  those  who  once  en- 
joyed the  shade  of  these  same  trees,  and  figured  familiarly 
in  these  same  sequestered  dwellings.  On  this  scene  the 
last  century  had  witnessed  some  curious  interlacings  of 
character.  The  sober  and  the  frolicsome,  the  comic  and  the 
tragic,  the  sacred  and  the  profane,  had  strangely  mingled 
and  manoeuvred  here  at  times.  Many  a  day  had  seen 
Addison,  as  a  school-boy,  passing  to  and  fro  through  the 
deanery  garden.  There  the  wit  and  imagination  of  Par- 
quhar  were  stimulated  to  immortalize  the  dishonours  of 
his  licentious  age ;  there  the  Bishop's  Eegistrar,  Gilbert 
Walmsley,  saved  his  own  name  from  oblivion  by  acting  the 
patron  to  David  Garrick.  At  the  end  of  the  walk,  the  eye 
could  wander  over  the  parapet  of  the  close,  and  command 
the  beautiful  valley  where  Samuel  Johnson  used  to  wander 
in  early  life.    The  mysteries  of  nightfall  were  beginning  to 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  137 

shroud  it  here  and  there  ;  but  Stow  Hill  was  standing  in 
clear  outline  against  the  sky,  in  affectionate  watchfulness 
over  its  still  waters.  There,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  was  the 
old  tower  of  St.  Chad's  church,  where,  tradition  says,  "Ovin 
heard  the  angels  sing  at  St.  Chad's  obit."  We  lingered 
long,  watching  the  brightening  reflections  of  the  stars  in 
Stow-Pool,  and  musing  on  the  possibility  of  angels  taking 
a  part  in  the  anthem  at  a  saint's  burial,  until  our  ear 
caught  a  sweet,  thrilling  harmony  coming  up  seemingly 
from  the  recesses  of  the  cathedral  crjqot,  and  floating  tremu- 
lously along  the  dark  aisles  above.  Was  it  the  music  of 
angels  ?  It  might  rather  be  the  voice  of  choristers  tuning 
themselves  for  the  morrow's  psalmody.  But  it  touched 
one's  very  soul,  and  called  up  the  voice  of  a  psalm  from 
within.  Just  then  the  rising  moon  threw  up  her  light  from 
the  horizon,  and  gave  the  last  insjiiring  touch.  The  spirit 
of  Addison  himself  might  be  there  joining  us  in  his  own 
inimitable  psalm — 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim. 

The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day. 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail. 
The  moon  takes  wp  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn. 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What,  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dai-k  terrestrial  ball ; 
What,  though  no  real  voice  or  sound 
Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ; 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
For  ever  singing  as  they  shine, 
"The  hand  that  made  us  is  Divine." 

The   author  of  this  noble  psalm  in  English  metre  may 
have  been  thrown  back  in  imagination  to  quiet  evenings 


138  HTMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

under  the  elms  in  Lichfield  Close,  when,  amidst  the  excite- 
ments of  literary  life,  he  issued  his  Saturday  invitation  to 
the  pleasures  of  psalmody,  and  prepared  his  readers  for 
them  by  saying,  "Faith  and  devotion  naturally  grow  in 
the  mind  of  every  reasonable  man  who  sees  the  impressions 
of  Divine  power  and  wisdom  in  every  object  on  which  he 
casts  his  eye.  The  Supreme  Being  has  made  the  best 
arguments  for  His  own  existence,  in  the  formation  of  the 
heaven  and  the  earth ;  and  these  are  arguments  which  a 
man  of  sense  cannot  forbear  attending  to,  who  is  out  of  the 
noise  and  hurry  of  human  affairs."  Peace  to  the  memory 
of  the  man  who  thus  taught  his  generation  to  enjoy  the 
inspired  utterance  that  "the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of 
God,  and  the  firmament  showeth  His  handy-work."  Nor 
can  any  one  despise  the  reflections  of  Divine  power  and 
goodness  which  come  upon  us  from  suns,  moons,  and  stars, 
without  being  in  danger  of  debasing  his  own  soul ;  at  the 
same  time,  to  confine  ourselves  to  the  lights  of  the  visible 
creation,  or  even  to  the  lessons  of  a  mere  general  providence, 
is  to  rest  in  a  religion  of  sentiment  rather  than  of  life,  and  to 
be  in  danger  of  looking  for  satisfaction  in  a  partial  and 
comparatively  powerless  devotion.  No,  God  must  be  sought 
chiefly  in  His  revealed  Word,  and  should  be  contemplated 
in  the  work  of  His  Holy  Spirit,  and  in  the  person  and  king- 
dom of  His  manifested  Son.  How  the  devotion  of  the 
inspired  psalmist  kindles  and  glows  when  he  looks  at  God 
in  the  face  of  the  reigning  Messiah  !  Can  anything  be 
more  sublime  than  Psalm  Ixxii  ?  Could  there  be  a  more 
perfect  harmony  of  the  Divine  and  the  human  in  prayer  and 
praise  ?  And  who  does  not  thank  God  for  the  man  who 
threw  that  song  into  English  metre,  so  happily  as  to  give 
it  all  the  charms  of  new  music,  so  effectually  as  to  natural- 
ize it  to  the  purest  taste  and  to  the  warmest  hearts  of 
Christian  England  ?  James  Montgomery  did  this  when  he 
taught  us  to  sing — 

Hail  to  the  Lord's  Anointed, 

Great  David's  greater  Son ! 
Hail,  in  the  time  appointed, 

His  reign  on  earth  begun ! 
He  comes  to  break  oppression, 

To  let  the  captive  free, 
To  take  away  transgression. 

And  rule  in  equity. 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  139 

He  comes  with  succour  speedy, 

To  those  who  suffer  wrong  ; 
To  help  the  poor  and  needy, 

And  bid  the  weak  be  strong ; 
To  give  them  songs  for  sighing, 

Their  darkness  turn  to  light. 
Whose  souls,  condemn' d  and  dying, 

Were  precious  in  His  sight. 

He  shall  come  down  like  showers 

Upon  the  fruitful  earth. 
And  love,  joy,  hope,  like  flowers, 

Spring  in  His  path  to  birth  ; 
Before  Him  on  the  mountains, 

Shall  peace,  the  herald,  go ; 
And  righteousness,  in  fountains, 

From  hill  to  valley  flow. 

Arabia's  desert  ranger 

To  Him  shall  bow  the  knee ; 
The  Ethiopian  stranger 

His  glory  come  to  see  ; 
With  offerings  of  devotion 

Ships  from  the  isles  shall  meet. 
To  pour  the  wealth  of  ocean 

In  tribute  at  His  feet. 

Kings  shall  fall  down  before  Him, 

And  gold  and  incense  bring  ; 
All  nations  shall  adore  Him, 

His  praise  all  people  sing ; 
For  He  shall  have  dominion 

O'er  river,  sea,  and  shore ; 
Far  as  the  eagle's  pinion 

Or  dove's  light  wing  can  soar. 

For  Him  shall  prayer  unceasing. 

And  daily  vows  ascend. 
His  kingdom  still  increasing,  ^ 

A  kingdom  without  end. 
The  mountain  dews  shall  nourish 

A  seed  in  weakness  sown. 
Whose  fruit  shall  spread  and  flourish, 

And  shake  like  Lebanon. 

O'er  every  foe  victorious. 

He  on  His  throne  shall  rest. 
From  age  to  age  more  glorious, 

All  blessing  and  all  blest : 
The  tide  of  time  shall  never 

His  covenant  remove ; 
His  name  shall  stand  for  ever, 

That  name  to  us  is  Love. 


140  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

But  while  a  versifier  here  and  there  has  given  a  psalm 
in  rhyme  without  entirely  degrading  the  holy  strain  of  the 
inspired  Psalmist;  it  may  be  said  again,  better,  on  the 
whole,  to  let  the  grand  old  English  Psalter  alone.  Chant 
its  measures,  sing  them,  or  murmur  them  in  holy  under- 
tones, but  let  nobody  try  to  make  them  all  into  a  book  of 
rhymes.  Were  we  to  judge  from  what  Milton  did  in  this 
line,  even  he  would  fail  in  the  larger  attempt ;  and,  after 
his  failure,  we  might  expect  as  little  as  we  get  from  Watts 
and  Charles  Wesley,  and  their  modern  followers  in  whole- 
sale psalmody.  Watts  wrote  too  fast ;  Wesley  was  faster 
still.  One  of  Wesley's  zealous  advocates  amuses  and  in- 
structs us  by  saying,  "You  may  take  all  the  poetry  of 
Watts,  and  Cowper,  and  Pope,  and  the  hj'mnic  composi- 
tions of  many  others,  who  have  a  well-earned  name  as 
sacred  poets,  and  they  are  all  outnumbered  by  the  single 
prolific  pen  of  the  poet  of  Methodism."  The  standard  is 
quantity  then  !  How  much,  did  he  write  ?  "  Seven  thousand 
'  psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs  '"  !  Seven  thotisand 
from  one  pen  !  and  that  the  pen  of  a  zealous,  busy,  evan- 
gelist and  pastor  !  These  thousands  could  not  all  be  gems  ; 
nor,  indeed,  could  multitudes  of  them  have  any  claim  even 
to  the  honour  of  paste  jewellery.  No  man  can  write  so 
many  verses,  and  so  fast,  and  always  write  well.  Not 
that  the  voluminous  pages  of  Wesley  and  Watts  are  left 
without  adornment  of  rich  gems  set  here  and  there. 
Amidst  many  dreary  pages.  Watts  sometimes  clothes  a 
psalm  in  simple  and  unblemished  beauty.  AVhose  grati- 
tude, and  trust,  and  hope,  have  not  kindled  into  quiet 
fervour  while  singing  thus  ? 

My  Shepherd  will  supply  my  need, 

Jehovah  is  His  name ; 
In  pastures  fresh  He  makes  me  feed. 

Beside  the  living  stream. 

He  brings  my  wandering  spirit  back. 

When  I  forsake  His  ways  ; 
And  leads  me  for  His  mercy's  sake. 

In  paths  of  truth  and  grace. 

When  I  walk  through  the  shades  of  death, 

Thy  presence  is  my  stay ; 
A  word  of  Thy  supporting  breath 

Drives  all  my  fears  away. 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  141 

Thy  hand,  in  spite  of  all  my  foes, 

Doth  still  my  table  spread  ; 
My  cup  with  blessings  overflows, 

Thine  oil  anoints  my  head. 

The  sure  provisions  of  my  God 

Attend  me  all  my  days  ; 
O  may  Thy  house  be  my  abode, 

And  all  my  work  be  praise ! 

There  would  I  find  a  settled  rest, 

(While  others  go  and  come) 
No  more  a  stranger  or  a  guest. 

But  like  a  child  at  home. 

Charles  Wesley,  however,  is  more  equal  throughout  than 
Watts,  and  holds  a  more  gracefully  sustained  flight.  Where 
the  rapt  psalmist  specially  invites  us  to  a  celestial  elevation, 
Watts  sometimes 

Meets 
A  vast  vacuity  :  all  unawares 

Fluttering  his  pennons  vain,  plump  down,  he  drops 
Ten  thousand  fathom  deep.  , 

Wesley's  power  in  metrical  psalmody  is  seen  to  the  best 
advantage  where  most  others  are  least  successful.  His 
version  of  Psalm  cxix.  is  one  of  his  best.  What  Manton 
required  an  awful  folio  to  explain,  Wesley  sets  forth,  with 
charming  fulness  and  transparency,  in  the  light  of  twenty- 
four  pages.  He  shows  himself  at  once  the  expositor,  the 
theologian,  the  Hebrew  chorister,  and  the  poet ;  nor  is  it 
too  much  to  say  that,  in  his  version  of  this  remarkable 
didactic  ode,  he  has  presented  to  us  "an  enchanting  and 
well-sustained  poem,  which,  without  any  approach  to 
tautology,  exhibits  all  the  pleasing  variety,  warmth,  and 
freshness  of  original  verse,  while  it  tenaciously  adheres  to 
the  spirit  of  the  inspired  Psalmist."  The  world  had  well- 
nigh  lost  this  pleasant  morsel ;  the  manuscript  turned  up 
to  a  friendly  eye  where  it  was  not  looked  for.  There  are 
mysteries  in  the  world  of  literature,  and  especially  about 
the  ins  and  outs  of  the  literary  market,  which,  in  a  way, 
answer  to  some  of  the  curious  secrets  of  nature.  There 
have  been  precious  germs  of  vegetable  life  unseen  and  un- 
known for  years,  treasured  up  far  below  the  surface,  until 
some  modern  road-makers  effect  their  cutting  through  the 
hill-side,  and  then,  at  the  very  next  spring  season,  up  start. 


142  HYMN- WRITERS  AKD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

on  the  bare  slope,  many  a  plant  and  flower  that  had 
hitherto  been  thought  foreign  to  the  neighbourhood  ;  or, 
as  the  warm  summer  sun  oj)ens  on  some  sea-side  garden  of 
our  inland  coast,  a  tiny  seed-vessel,  borne  on  the  ocean 
current  or  on  the  breeze,  or  by  a  winged  carrier  from 
across  the  water,  opens  its  beauty  on  this  strange  soil,  and 
excites  a  wonder  how  it  should  have  come  here.  So,  now 
and  then,  a  freakish  inroad  on  the  deep  accumulations  of 
some  venerable  library  makes  way  for  some  hidden  trea- 
sures to  show  themselves  ;  or,  perhaps,  a  curious  current 
of  interest,  or  even  a  questionable  side-wind,  carries  out  a 
manuscript  or  two  from  their  obscurity,  and  leaves  them 
open  to  the  daylight  on  some  unpretending  bookstall.  How 
the  wind  blew,  or  from  what  point  the  stream  came  which 
dislodged  Charles  Wesley's  manuscript  from  its  college 
confinement,  must  still  be  a  mystery.  It  is  clear,  however, 
that,  with  some  of  its  library  honours  yet  upon  it,  it  was 
found  by  a  book-hunter  as  he  was  scouring  the  book- 
market,  possibly  in  one  of  the  many  indefinable  stages 
of  Bibliomania.  Had  there  been  nothing  more  in  the 
volume  than  "Wesley's  rendering  of  Psalm  cxix.,  it 
would  have  been  worth  finding.  The  seventh  and  eighth 
parts,  answering  to  Zai7i  and  Cheth  in  the  original,  are  fair 
specimens  of  the  poet's  embodiment  of  the  Psalmist's 
spirit,  in  a  kind  of  harmonized  paraphrase  and  transla- 
tion : — 

Thee,  O  Lord,  the  good,  the  just, 

True  and  faithful  I  receive  ; 
Keep  Thy  word,  in  which  I  trust, 

Thou  who  gav'st  me  to  believe : 
Hoping  for  Thy  promised  aid, 

Comfort  in  my  grief  I  find  ; 
This  my  fainting  mind  hath  stay'd. 

Still  it  stays  my  fainting  mind. 

Me  the  proud  have  greatly  scorn'd ; 

Yet  I  still  unshaken  stood, 
Never  from  Thy  statutes  tum'd, 

Never  left  the  narrow  road. 
On  Thine  ancient  works  I  thought, 

Look'd  again  the  same  to  see ; 
Thou  of  old  hast  wonders  wrought, 

"Wonders  Thou  shalt  work  for  me. 

Tearless  of  the  scomer's  power, 
Fearful  for  their  souls  I  was. 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METRE.  143 

Saw  hell  open  to  devour 

All  wlio  break  Thy  righteous  laws : 
Lord,  Thy  laws  my  songs  have  been 

In  my  pilgrimage  below, 
Kept  by  them  from  woe  and  sin, 

In  a  world  of  sin  and  woe. 

Thee  I  have  remembered,  Lord, 

Musing  in  the  silent  night, 
Loved  Thy  name,  and  kept  Thy  word. 

Pure  and  permanent  delight 
I  did  in  Thy  precepts  prove  : 

Heaven  on  earth  obedience  is, 
Perfect  liberty  and  love, 

Perfect  power  and  perfect  peace. 

Thou  my  portion  art,  O  Lord  ! 

Long  resolved  through  Thee  I  am 
To  fulfil  Thine  every  word, 

Give  me  but  the  help  I  claim  : 
All  my  heart  hath  sought  Thy  face. 

Still  Thy  favour  I  implore  ; 
Grant  me  now  the  promised  grace, 

Bid  me  go  and  sin  no  more. 

All  my  sins  I  call'd  to  mind, 

Own'd,  and  left  them  all  for  God; 
Labour' d  the  right  way  to  find, 

Thee  with  earnest  zeal  pursued ; 
Turn'd  my  feet  without  delay  ; 

Long'd  Thine  utmost  will  to  prove. 
Eager  all  Thy  law  to  obey. 

Restless  to  retrieve  Thy  love. 

Spoil' d  and  hated  for  Thy  sake, 

Thee  I  never  would  forego, 
"Would  not  from  Thy  law  turn  back ; 

Oh  my  Life,  my  Heaven  below. 
Thee  I  all  day  long  will  praise. 

Thee  I  will  at  midnight  sing ! 
True  and  righteous  are  Thy  ways. 

Glory  to  my  God  and  King ! 

Join'd  to  all  who  fear  the  Lord, 

Them  my  dearest  friends  I  own ; 
Them  that  keep  Thy  holy  word, 

Saved  by  grace  through  faith  alone. 
Earth  is  full  of  love  divine ; 

Love  divine  for  all  is  free ; 
Teach  me,  then,  the  law  benign  ; 

Guide,  and  save,  and  perfect  me. 


144  HYMN-WEITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Psalm  xc.  comes  to  us  in  a  metrical  English  version  of 
beautiful  simplicity  from  one  wko  has  been  called  "  the 
Shakespeare  of  Scotland."  It  is  said  of  Robert  Burns  that 
he  never  failed  in  any  poetic  attempt,  escej)t  in  epigrams. 
He  certainly  did  not  fail  in  this  essay  at  turning  an  old 
eastern  ode  into  charming  English  verse.  The"  man  had 
indeed  a  versatile  genius.  He  could  sing  in  Scotch  or 
English,  or  in  a  musical  mixture  of  the  two.  He  could  be 
comic  or  serious,  tender  or  lofty,  each  and  all  by  turns.  He 
engages  our  hearts  in  a  "  Cotter's "  family  devotion, 
laughs  and  jokes  with  "auld  Nickie-ben,"  dances  and 
rides  with  witches,  mimics  the  voice  of  Bruce  with  effect, 
becomes  an  impersonation  of  passionate  love  for  a  "  bonnie 
lassie,"  and  melts  into  tenderness  over  a  crushed  daisy  or 
a  broken  mouse's  nest.  With  the  prayerful  he  prays, 
with  the  toper  he  rants,  and  with  the  truly  "merry"  he 
can  "  sing  psalms."  Gifts  that  were  distributed  among 
many  other  penmen  were  happily  combined  in  him.  Would 
that  we  could  alwaj^s  see  Burns  in  the  purer  and  generous 
light  of  his  earlier  days,  in  his  youthful  manliness  and 
integrity.  Would  that  we  could  always  think  of  him  as 
swayed  by  the  better  feelings  of  even  his  later  life  ;  when, 
for  instance,  those  feelings  prompted  him  to  say  in  a  letter  to 
a  lady,  whose  manners  and  principles  reproved  him  at  times, 
"  I  have  some  favourite  flowers  in  spring,  among  which  are 
the  mountain  daisy,  the  harebell,  the  foxglove,  the  wild-brier 
rose,  the  budding  birch,  and  the  hoary  hawthorn,  that  I 
view  and  hang  over  with  particular  delight.  I  never  hear 
the  loud  solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  on  a  summer  noon, 
or  the  wild  mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  grey  plovers  in 
an  autumnal  morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul, 
like  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion  or  poetry.  Tell  me,  my 
dear  friend,  to  what  can  this  be  owing  ?  Ai-e  we  a  piece 
of  machinery,  which,  like  the  iEolian  harp,  passive,  takes 
the  impression  of  the  passing  accident  ?  Or  do  these  work- 
ings argue  something  within  us  above  the  trodden  clod  ? 
I  own  myself  partial  to  such  proofs  of  those  awful  and 
important  realities — a  Grod  that  made  all  things — man's 
immaterial  and  immortal  nature,  and  a  world  of  weal  or 
woe  beyond  death  and  the  grave."  It  would  be  pleasant 
indeed  ever  to  have  the  poet  before  us,  warm  with  the 
feeling  which  moved  him  when  he  wrote — 


PSALMS  IN  ENGLISH  METEE.  145 

But  deep  this  trutli  impressed  my  mind, 

Tliroug-h  all  His  works  abroad, 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 

The  most  resembles  God. 

Or  Iviiidling  into  tlie  still  more  devout  spirit  of  Ms  little 
gem  of  a  psalm — 

0  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend 

Of  all  the  human  race  ! 
Whose  strong  right  hand  has  ever  been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling-place. 

Before  the  mountains  heaved  their  heads 

Beneath  Thy  forming  hand  ; 
Before  this  ponderous  globe  itself 

Arose  at  Thy  command, 

That  power  which  raised  and  still  upholds 

This  universal  frame  ; 
From  countless  unbeginning  time 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years, 

Which  seem  to  us  so  vast, 
Appear  no  more  before  Thy  sight 

Than  yesterday  that's  past. 

Thou  giv'st  Thy  word,  Thy  creature,  man, 

Is  to  existence  brought ; 
Again  Thou  sayest,  "Ye  sons  of  men, 

Keturn  ye  into  nought." 

Thou  layest  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

In  everlasting  sleep ; 
As  with  a  flood  Thou  tak'st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

They  flourish  like  the  morning  flower. 

In  beauty's  pride  arrayed  ; 
But,  long  ere  night,  cut  down  it  Kes, 

All  withered  and  decayed. 

But  shadows  sometimes  gather  around  the  memory  of 
this  departed  genius ;  shadows  that  even  to  this  day  dim 
the  moral  life  of  scenes  in  which  that  memory  is  cherished. 
It  is  not  pleasant  to  doubt  of  any  human  life,  whether  the 
good  it  bequeathed  is  equal  to  the  mischief  it  entails. 
But  Burns  is  gone,  as  all  the  sons  of  genius  must  go,  hal- 
lowed or  unhallowed;  gone  with  the  "flood,"  as  he  him- 

K 


146  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

self  psalmecl  it,  or  as  Watts,  with,  more  sublimity,  renders 
the  same  truth — 

The  busy  tribes  of  flesh  and  blood, 

With  all  their  lives  and  cares, 
Are  carried  downwards  by  the  flood, 

And  lost  in  following  years. 

Time,  like  an  ever-rolling  stream, 

Bears  all  its  sous  away  ; 
They  fly,  forgotten,  as  a  dream 

Dies  at  the  opening  day. 

Like  flow'ry  fields  the  nations  stand, 

Pleas' d  with  the  morning  light ; 
The  flow'rs,  beneath  the  mower's  hand, 

Lie  with'ring  ere  'tis  night. 

The  fragment  of  this  psalm  which  Burns  has  left  is 
precious,  were  it  only  to  show  how  a  master  of  his  own 
pure  native  English  can  succeed  in  imitating  the  crystal- 
like beauty  and  simple  grandeur  of  an  ancient  Hebrew 
hymn,  even  though  his  own  heart  never  realized  full  sym- 
pathy with  the  higher  spiritual  feeling  of  the  original 
Psalmist.  "The  Spirit  of  the  Psalms"  has  been  more 
happily  caught  in  later  times  by  one  whose  own  spirit  had 
learnt  deeply  to  converse  with  the  author  of  holiest  inspi- 
ration. Quietly  toiling  in  a  sea-side  parish  of  Soiith 
Devon,  about  thirty  jeuvs  ago,  a  devout  and  gentle-minded 
parson  consecrated  his  poetic  genius  to  the  work  of  pro- 
viding "an  apj)ropriate  Manual  of  Psalmody"  for  the  use 
of  the  Church.  "With  characteristic  modesty,  he  tells  us 
that  he  "  simply  endeavoured  to  give  the  spirit  of  each 
psalm  in  such  a  compass  as  the  public  taste  would  tolerate, 
and  to  furnish,  sometimes,  when  the  length  of  the  original 
would  admit  of  it,  an  almost  literal  translation  ;  sometimes, 
a  kind  of  spiritual  paraphrase  ;  and  at  others,  even  a  brief 
commentary  on  the  whole  psalm."  He  published  his  col- 
lection under  the  title  of  "  The  Spirit  of  the  Psalms." 
What  he  wrote  he  taught  his  flock  to  sing,  and  beautiful 
was  it  to  find  Henry  P.  Lyte  leading  the  psalmody  of  his 
congregation  by  singing  with  them  his  own  metrical  ver- 
sions. One  Sunday  morning,  in  the  summer  of  1838,  his 
chtirch  was  ci'owded  with  seafaring  men  and  their  families. 
He  took  for  his  text  the  Saviour's  words  to  the  boatmen  of 


PSALMS  m  e::^glish  metre.  147 

Galilee,  "  Cast  the  net  on  tlie  right  side  of  the  ship,  and  ye 
shall  find  ;  "  and  he  began  by  saying  :  "  The  affecting  and 
interesting  sight  which  presents  itself  here  to-day  induces 
me  to  select  a  subject  directly  suitable  to  our  dear  fisher- 
men, whom  I  so  rejoice  to  meet  in  the  house  of  God  this 
morning.  There  is  surely  not  one  person  present  who 
does  not  partake  of  the  emotions  which  I  feel  in  standing 
up  among  such  a  body  of  my  parishioners,  and  who  will 
not  excuse  me  for  addressing  my  self  on  this  occasion  almost 
exclusively  to  them."  Then  followed  a  faithful  and  touch- 
ing appeal  to  those  who  saw  God's  "  wonders  in  the  deep," 
and  then  this  beautiful  and  appropriate  version  of  Psalm 
xlvi.  : — 

The  Lord  is  oivc  refuge,  the  Lord  is  our  guide ; 

We  smile  upon  dang-er,  -with  Hijn  at  our  side  : 

The  billows  may  blacken,  the  tempest  increase, 

Though  earth  may  be  shaken,  His  saints  shall  have  peace. 

A  voice  still  and  small  by  His  people  is  heard, 

A  whisper  of  peace  from  His  life-giving-  word. 

A  stream  in  the  desert,  a  river  of  love, 

Flows  down  to  their  hearts  from  the  Fountain  above. 

Be  near  us,  Redeemer,  to  shield  us  from  iU  ; 
Speak  Thou  but  the  word,  and  the  tempest  is  still. 
Thy  presence  to  cheer  us.  Thy  arm  to  defend, 
A  worm  grows  almighty  with  Thee  for  a  friend. 

The  Lord  is  our  helper  ;  ye  scorners,  be  awed ! 
Ye  earthhngs,  be  still,  and  acknowledge  your  God. 
The  proud  He  will  humble,  the  lowly  defend  ; 
O  happy  the  people  with  God  for  a  friend  I 


CHAPTER  XI. 
HYMN-M  END  EES. 

"For  the  ear  trieth  words  as  the  mouth  tasteth  meat." 

No  man  was  ever  more  apt  at  writing  an  eflfeetive  preface 
than  John  Wesley.  Never  did  author  more  decidedly 
assert  his  own  claims  and  powers,  or  more  strikingly  adver- 
tise the  virtue  of  his  own  pages.  Eead  the  notice  on  the 
title-page  of  his  remarkable  "Pocket  Dictionary:" — 
"  N.B.  The  author  assures  you  he  thinks  this  is  the  best 
English  Dictionary  in  the  world  !  "  And  then,  who  does 
not  enjoy  the  satirical  humour  and  playful  earnestness  of 
his  address  to  the  reader,  "  as  incredible  as  it  ma}^  appear, 
I  must  avow  that  this  dictionary  is  not  published  to  get 
money,  but  to  assist  persons  of  common  sense  and  no  learn- 
ing to  understand  the  best  English  authors  ;  and  tliat  witli 
as  little  expense  of  time  and  money  as  the  nature  of  the 

thing  will  allow I  should  add  no  more,  but  that 

I  have  so  often  observed,  the  only  way,  according  to  the 
modern  taste,  for  any  author  to  procure  commendation  to 
his  book  is,  vehemently  to  commend  it  himself.  For  want  of 
this  deference  to  the  public,  several  excellent  tracts  lately 
printed,  but  left  to  commend  themselves  by  their  intrinsic 
worth,  are  utterly  unknown  or  forgotten.  "Whereas  if  a 
writer  of  tolerable  sense  will  but  bestow  a  few  violent 
encomiums  on  his  own  work,  especially  if  they  are  skilfully 
ranged  on  the  title-page,  it  will  pass  through  six  editions 
in  a  trice  ;  the  world  being  too  complaisant  to  give  a 
gentleman  the  lie,  and  taking  it  for  granted  he  under- 
stands his  own  performance  best.  In  compliance,  therefore, 
with  the  taste  of  the  age,  I  add,  that  this  little  dictionary 


HYMN-MENDERS.  149 

is  not  only  the  shortest  'and  the  cheapest,  but  like-^ise  by 
many  degrees  the  most  correct  which  is  extant  at  this  day. 
Many  are  the  mistakes  in  all  the  other  EngKsh  dictionaries 
which.  I  have  yet  seen.  Whereas  I  can  truly  say,  I  know 
of  none  in  this  ;  and  I  conceive  the  reader  will  believe  me  ; 
for  if  I  had,  I  shoidd  not  have  left  it  there.  Use  then 
this  help  till  you  find  a  better."  This  is  all  anonymous, 
and  some  might  doubt  its  authorship,  but  for  its  unmistak- 
able claim  to  the  same  parentage  with  the  preface  to 
' '  A  Collection  of  Hymns  for  the  Use  of  the  People  called 
Methodists,  by  John  Wesley,  M.A."  Who  can  doubt  the 
identity  of  the  self-reliance,  firm  decision,  strong  sense, 
straightforward  sincerity,  and  transparent  purity  of  pur- 
pose ?  "The  hymn-book  you  have  now  before  you," 
says  the  writer,  "is  not  so  large  as  to  be  either  cumbersome 
or  expensive  ;  and  it  is  large  enough  to  contain  such  a 
variety  of  hymns,  as  will  not  soon  be  worn  threadbare.  .  . 
As  but  a  small  part  of  these  hymns  is  of  my  own  compos- 
ing, I  do  not  think  it  inconsistent  with  modesty  to  declare 
that  I  am  persuaded  no  such  hymn-book  as  this  has  as  yet 
been  published  in  the  English  language.  In  what  other 
publication  of  the  kind  have  you  so  distinct  and  full  an 
account  of  Scriptural  Christianity?  Such  a  declaration 
of  the  heights  and  depths  of  religion,  speculative  and 
practical  ?  So  strong  cautions  against  the  most  plavisible 
errors;  particularly  those  that  are  now  most  prevalent? 
and  so  clear  directions  for  making  your  calling  and  election 
sure  ;  for  perfecting  holiness  in  the  fear  of  God  ?  May  I 
be  permitted  to  add  a  few  words  with  regard  to  the 
poetry  ?  Then  I  will  speak  to  those  who  are  judges  thereof 
with  all  freedom  and  unreserve.  To  these  I  may  saj^, 
without  offence — 1.  In  these  hymns  there  is  no  doggerel ; 
no  blotches ;  nothing  put  in  to  patch  up  the  rhyme ;  no 
feeble  expletives.  2.  Here  is  nothing  turgid  or  bombast, 
on  the  one  hand,  or  low  and  creeping  on  the  other. 
3.  Here  are  no  cant  expressions  ;  no  words  without  mean- 
ing. Those  who  impute  this  to  us  know  not  what  they 
say.  We  talk  common  sense,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  and 
use  no  word  but  in  a  fixed  and  determinate  sense.  4.  Here 
are,  allow  me  to  say,  both  the  purity,  the  strength,  and 
the  elegance  of  the  English  language ;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  the  utmost  simplicity  and  plainness,  suited  to  every 


150  HYHN-VEITEES  AND  TUEIK  HYilKS. 

capacity.  Lastly,  I  desire  men  of  taste  to  judge  (these 
are  tlie  onl}^  comjietent  judges)  whether  there  be  in  some 
of  the  following  hymns  the  true  spirit  of  poetry,  such  as 
cannot  be  acquired  by  art  and  nature,  but  must  be  the  gift 
of  nature." 

This  is  a  fair  challenge,  and  the  majority  of  those  to 
whom  the  appeal  is  made  seem  to  have  a  growing  convic- 
tion that  Wesley's  judgment  was  cj^uite  equal  to  his  poetic 
taste  and  power ;  but  now  comes  the  assertion  of  other 
claims.  "  And  here,"  continues  the  writer,  "I  beg  leave 
to  mention  a  thought  which  has  been  long  upon  my  mind, 
and  which  I  should  long  ago  have  inserted  in  the  public 
papers,  had,  I  not  been  unwilling  to  stir  up  a  nest  of 
hornets.  Man}'  gentlemen  have  done  my  brother  and  me 
(though  without  naming  us)  the  honour  to  reprint  many  of 
our  hymns.  Now,  they  are  perfectly  welcome  so  to  do, 
l^rovided  they  print  them  just  as  they  are  ;  but  I  desire  they 
would  not  attempt  to  mend  them,  for  they  really  are  not 
able.  None  of  them  is  able  to  mend  either  the  sense  or 
the  verse.  Therefore,  I  must  beg  of  them  one  of  these  two 
favours — either  to  let  them  stand  just  as  they  are,  to  take 
them  for  better  for  worse ;  or  to  add  the  true  reading  in  the 
margin,  or  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  that  we  may  no 
longer  be  accountable  either  for  the  nonsense  or  for  the 
doggerel  of  other  men."  Who  does  not  recognise  here 
the  voice  of  the  humorous,  trenchant,  and  self-possessed 
compiler  of  "the  best  English  Dictionary  in  the  world"  ? 
John  Wesley  feels  himself  equal  alike  to  lexicography  and 
hymnic  composition.  He  might  be  called  a  prophet  too. 
At  all  events,  there  is  something  in  his  j)reface  like  a  fore- 
casting of  times,  when  the  rage  for  compiling  hymn-books 
would  lead  to  all  sorts  of  h^mm-mending.  Did  he  foresee 
this  age  of  literary  sacrilege  ?  He  seemed  to  deprecate  the 
early  attempts  to  improve  his  hymns,  as  foretokens  of  the 
days  which  have  fallen  upon  us ;  days  of  adaptation 
hymn-books,  when  churches  high  and  low,  congregations 
great  and  small,  communions  close  and  open,  connexions 
loose  and  tight,  schools  both  wholesome  and  ragged, 
associations  young  and  old,  all  sects,  all  parties,  all  shades 
and  standards  of  doctrine  and  feeling,  all  and  each  must 
have  a  hymn-book;  "  yea,  every  one  hath  a  psalm,  hath  a 
doctrine,  hath  a  tongue,  hath  a  revelation,  hath  an  inter- 


HYMN-MENDERS.  151 

pretation"  ?  Poor  "Wesley  !  tlie  reckless  menders  began 
wMle  lie  was  yet  alive,  and  surely  his  critical  sense  must 
have  been  painfully  touched  when,  among  many  other 
violations,  the  first  verse  of  his  brother's  jubilant  hymn  on 
the  name  of  Jesus  was  weakened  into  compliance  with 
another  creed.     The  original  hymn  sings — 

Let  earth  and  heaven  agree, 

Angels  and  men  be  join'd, 
To  celebrate  with  me 

The  Savioiu-  of  mankind ; 
To  adore  the  all- atoning  Lamb, 
And  bless  the  sound  of  Jesu's  name. 

But,  instead  of  this  closing  couplet,  the  menders  would 
make  us  sing — 

To  fall  before  the  atoning  Lamb, 
And  praise  the  blessed  Jesu's  name. 

In  another  noble  h;)Tnn  "  for  the  Jews,"  we  are  taught  to 
pray — 

Come,  then,  Thou  great  Deliverer,  come  ! 

The  veil  from  Jacob's  heart  remove ; 
Eeceive  thy  ancient  people  home ! 

That,  quickened  by  Thy  dying  love, 
The  world  may  their  reception  find, 
Life  from  the  dead  for  all  mankind. 

This,  however,  is  too  large  a  prayer  for  some,  and,  to  suit 
their  narrower  views,  the  last  lines  are  softened  down  to 
this — 

That,  quickened  by  Thy  djdng-  love. 

The  world  may  their  reception  view. 

And  shout  to  God  the  glory  due ! 

Of  all  that  Charles  "Wesley  ever  wrote,  nothing  ought 
to  have  been  held  more  sacred  from  the  touch  of  mere 
senseless  mutilators  than  the  hymn  which  has  hushed 
and  cheered  so  many  souls  amidst  the  tempests  of  this 
mortal  life.  How  many  voices  from  both  worlds  pro- 
nounce it  sacrilege  to  alter  that  hymn !  One  heart,  at 
least,  still  beats  by  whom  it  is  held  as  an  invaluable 
treasure,  nor  is  it  for  ever  enshrined  in  that  heart  without 
good  reason.  About  twenty  years  ago,  on  a  winter's 
night,  a  heavy  gale  set  in  upon  the  precipitoiis  rock-bound 
coast  of  one  of  our  western  counties.     A  tight,  brave  little 


152  IlYMX-^TEITEES  AXD  THEIK  HYMNS. 

coasting  vessel  struggled  hard  and  long  to  reach,  some 
shelter  in  the  Bristol  Channel,  but  the  struggle  -u-as  vain  ; 
one  dark  fearful  headland  covild  not  be  weathered  ;  the 
bark  must  go  on  shore,  and  what  a  shore  it  was  the  fated 
men  well  knew.  Then  came  the  last  jduU  for  life  ;  the 
boat  was  swung  off  and  manned  ;  captain  and  crew  united 
in  one  more  brave  effort,  but  their  toiling  at  the  oai-  was 
soon  over,  their  boat  was  swamjied.  They  seemed  to  have 
sunk  together,  "  and  in  death  they  were  not  divided,"  for, 
when  the  morning  dawned,  they  were  found  lying  all  but 
side  by  side  under  the  shelter  of  a  weedy  rock.  They 
might  have  been  saved  had  they  stayed  in  the  ship,  for 
she  had  been  borne  in  upon  a  heaw;/  sea  close  under  the 
cliff,  where  she  was  jammed  immovably  between  two 
rocks,  and  in  the  morning  the  ebb  tide  left  her  lying  high 
and  dry.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  on  deck,  and  below 
scarcely  anything  told  of  her  late  distress.  One  token  of 
peace  and  salvation  there  was  ;  it  was  the  captain's  hymn- 
book  still  Ijing  on  the  locker,  closed  upon  the  jDencil  with 
which  the  good  man  had  marked  the  last  passages  upon 
which  his  eye  had  rested  before  he  left  the  ship  to  meet 
his  fate.  A  leaf  of  the  page  was  turned  down,  and  there 
were  pencil  lines  in  the  margin  at  several  passages  of 
Charles  Wesley's  precious  hymn — 

Jestis,  lover  of  my  soizl, 

Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly  ; 
"Wliile  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high  I 
Hide  me,  0  ray  Savioiu',  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past, 
Safe  into  the  haren  guide  ; 

Oh  receive  my  soul  at  last  ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none  ; 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee  ; 
Leave,  ah  !  leave  me  not  alone. 

Still  support  and  comfort  me  : 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stay'd, 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring  : 
CoA^er  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing ! 

Wilt  Thou  not  regard  my  call  ? 

Wilt  Thou  not  accept  my  prayer  ? 
Lo  !  I  sink,  I  faint,  I  fall ! 

Lo  !  on  Thee  I  cast  mv  care  ! 


HYMN-MEXDEES.  153 

Reacli  me  out  Thy  pracious  hand  ! 

While  I  of  Thy  strength  receive, 
Hoping  against  hope  I  stand, 

Dying,  and  behold  I  live  ! 

Thou,  0  Christ,  art  all  I  want ; 

More  than  all  in  Thee  I  find  : 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint. 

Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind  ! 
Just  and  holy  is  Thy  name  ; 

I  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 
False  and  full  of  sin  I  am. 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace  ! 

Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, 

Grace  to  cover  all  my  sin  ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  aboiind ; 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within  ! 
Thou  of  life  the  fountain  art  ; 

Treely  let  me  take  of  Thee  ; 
Spring  Thou  up  within  my  heart, 

Rise  to  all  eternity  ! 

This  was  the  pious  captain's  death-song.  And  who  that 
loves  his  memory,  or  who  that  has  mused  by  his  green 
seaside  grave,  where  his  dust  awaits  the  resurrection,  or 
who  that  has  learnt  to  sing  his  favourite  verses,  "  with  the 
spirit  and  with  the  understanding  also,"  but  must  be  pain- 
fully touched  at  finding  any  part  of  the  hymn  mangled  and 
flattened,  until  its  spirit  and  life  are  all  but  gone  ?  Yet 
to  such  grief  some  of  our  hymn-manglers  would  subject 
the  lovers  of  original  poetic  beauty  and  power.  Alas  !  for 
the  taste  of  the  man  who  could  blot  out  Charles  "Wesley's 
first  four  exquisite  lines  to  substitute  his  own  thus — 

Jesus,  refuge  of  my  soxil, 

Let  me  to  thy  mercy  fly  ; 
Wliile  the  raging  billows  roll, 

WliUe  the  tempest  still  is  high ! 

But  even  this  is  nothing,  compared  with  the  stupid  imperti- 
nence exemplified  in  some  of  the  little  spiritual  song  books 
which  swarm  from  the  press  for  the  use  of  various  parties 
professing  to  be  the  unsectarian  representatives  of  spiritual 
revival.  The  two  shores  of  St.  George's  Channel  seem  to 
strive  for  the  mastery  in  doggerel.  One  manual  gives  a 
version  of  Wesley's  glorious  hymn — 


154  HYMN-WEITEES  AXD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Oh  love  divine,  how  sweet  thou  art ! 
When  shall  I  find  my  willing  heart 

All  taken  up  by  Thee  ? 
I  tliirst,  I  faint,  I  die  to  prove 
The  greatness  of  redeeming  love, 

The  love  of  Christ  to  me ! 

The  glowing  climax  of  the  last  three  lines,  so  finely 
expressive  of  the  rising  warmth  of  the  soul  in  its  longing 
for  Christ,  breaks  down  into  flatness  at  the  touch  of  the 
emendator's  pen — 

Oh  may  I  faint,  and  thii-st  to  prove 

The  greatness  of  redeeming  love — 

The  love  of  Christ  to  me  I 

Wesley  keeps  up  the  swell  of  the  soul's  devotion  in  the 
following  verse — 

God  only  knows  the  love  of  G-od  : 
Oh  that  it  now  were  shed  abroad 

In  this  poor  stony  heart ! 
For  love  I  sigh,  for  love  I  pine  : 
This  only  portion,  Lord,  be  mine. 

Be  mine  the  better  part ! 

But  our  modern  editor  thinks  the  "  ^Door  stony  heart "  too 
cold,  and  makes  it  a  "poor  longing  heart";  yet  falls 
immediately  into  doubtfulness  as  to  the  reality  of  its  pre- 
sent desires,  and  awkwardly  changing  both  mood  and  tense, 
timidly  promises,  that  if  the  love 

were  shed  abroad 


In  this  poor  longing  heart, 

he  would  sigh  for  it  still,  and  pine  for  it  still — 

For  love  Td  sigh,  for  love  Td  pine  ! 

The  subhmest  strain  is  not  safe  from  the  damaging  touch 
of  conceited  hymn-menders.  Evidence  of  this  is  found  in 
the  humiliating  fact  that  the  inimitable  hymn  founded  on 
St.  Paul's  saying,  "  of  whom  the  whole  family  in  heaven 
and  earth  is  named,"  has  been  published  in  a  mutilated 
form.     The  first  verse  begins — 

Come  let  us  join  our  friends  above 

That  have  obtained  the  prize, 
And  on  the  eagle  wings  of  love 

To  joys  celestial  rise. 


HYMX- MENDERS .  155 

Such,  eagle  fliglits  arelbeyond  the  power  of  some  songsters, 
and  they  change  it  by  singing — 

Come  let  us  join  our  friends  above 

Who  have  obtained  the  prize, 
And  happy  in  the  Saviour's  love, 

To  joys  celestial  rise. 

Nor  can  that  grand  expression  of  realizing  faith  at  the  close 
of  the  hymn  be  allowed  to  remain,  but  instead  of 

Our  spirits  too  shall  quickly  join, 
Like  theirs  with  glory  crown' d ! 

The  weaker  and  more  wavering  confidence  says — 

The  morning  comes  when  all  shall  join. 
Alike  with  glory  crown' d. 

Another  of  Charles  AVesley's  joyful  outbreaks  of  Christian 
assurance  needs  to  be  checked  and  qualified,  as  his  censor 
thinks.     The  original  hymnist  shouts — 

Away  with  our  sorrow  and  fear. 

We  soon  shall  recover  our  home  ; 
■     The  city  of  saints  shall  appear, 

The  day  of  eternity  come. 
From  earth  we  shaU  quickly  remove, 

And  mount  to  our  native  abode  ! 
The  house  of  our  Father  above. 

The  palace  of  angels  and  God. 

The  second  line  is  tamed  clown  to 

We  soon  shall  have  enter' d  our  home. 

And  as  if  the  good  people  were  afraid  to  mount  in  Wesley's 
style,  they  sing — 

From  earth  we  shall  quickly  remove, 

To  dwell  in  our  native  abode, 
In  mansions  of  glory  above, 

Prepared  by  our  Father  and  God. 

And  then  follows  a  jumble  of  stanzas  gathered  from 
several  hymns  of  the  same  metre,  the  heterogeneous  mix- 
ture being  introduced  by  a  distinctive  Irishism — 

Ah  !  who  upon  earth  can  conceive 
The  bliss  that  in  heaven  tct''  II  share  ? 


156  IIYMX-"WKITERS  A^"D  THEIR  IITIIXS. 

The  writer  of  course  means  the  bliss  that  we  shall  share  ; 
but,  like  many  of  his  incurable  countrymen,  he  must  have 
it  icill,  expressive,  doubtless,  of  his  fixed  determination 
to  have  his  own  share  of  hymning  in  the  other  world,  as 
well  as  his  own  way  of  hymn-mending  in  this.  But  enough 
has  been  said  to  show  that  John  Wesley  had  reason  for 
shrinking  from  being  "  accountable  for  the  nonsense  or  the 
doggerel  of  other  men."  It  is  not  surprising,  however, 
that  the  unskilful  multitude  should  try  their  hands  at 
hymn-mending,  when  masters  in  the  art  have  set  such 
examples.  Critical  inquiries  into  the  history  of  hymnology 
open  up  some  curious  scenes.  The  Weslej^s  are  seen 
mending  Herbert  and  "Watts,  Toplady  and  Madan  are  found 
hashing  and  re-cooking  Charles  Wesley.  Somebody  else 
is  trying  to  improve  Toplady.  Heber  makes  free  with 
Jeremy  Taylor.  Montgomery  is  altering  and  altered. 
Keble,  and  Milman,  and  Alford  are  all  pinched,  and 
twisted,  and  re-dressecl  in  turn.  Among  all  these  menders 
John  Wesley  was  perhaps  one  of  the  best.  He  was  posi- 
tively sure  that  nobody  could  mend  his  own  hymns ;  but 
he  was  not  scrupulous  in  mending  other  people's.  His 
critical  power  and  poetic  taste,  however,  were  exercised 
chiefly  on  the  productions  of  his  brother  Charles,  and 
generally  his  emendations  were  improvements.  And 
perhaps,  too,  it  was  happy  for  Charles  that  he  had  a 
brother  so  severe ;  for  one  who  wrote  so  many  verses  and 
so  fast,  needed  another  eye  and  another  hand  to  guard  him 
from  the  consequences  of  voluminous  rhyming.  In  dealing 
with  other  authors,  whose  hymns  are  brought  to  enrich  his 
hymn-book,  John  Wesley's  touches  are,  for  the  most  part, 
delicate  but  effective.  Bj^  the  slightest  stroke  he  some- 
times turns  weakness  into  strength,  commonplaces  into 
beauties,  and  irregularity  into  order.  A  transforming 
word  or  two  from  him,  now  and  then,  makes  questionable 
things  j)ure,  and  calls  up  grandeur  from  what  was  puerile 
or  mean.  Witness  the  transformation  of  some  verses  in 
Watts's  hymn  on  "  Heavenly  joys  on  earth."  The  original 
first  verse  is — 

Come,  we  that  love  the  Lord, 

And  let  our  joys  be  knovrn  ; 
Join  in  a  song  with  sweet  accord. 

And  thus  surround  the  throne. 


HYMN-MENDEES.  157 

Wesley  takes  away  the  sign  of  "weakness  by  rendering  it — 

Come,  yc  tliat  love  the  Lord, 

And  let  your  joys  be  known, 
E'en  in  a  song  with  sweet  accord, 

While  ye  surround  Sis  throne. 

The  rise  from  something  akin  to  silliness  into  grandeur  is 
still  more  strikingly  seen  in  the  change  of  the  foiu'th  verse 
from 

The  God  that  rules  on  high. 

And  thunders  when  He  please, 
That  rides  upon  the  stormy  sky, 
And  manages  the  seas. 
into 

The  God  that  rules  on  high. 
That  all  the  earth  surveys, 
That  rides  upon  the  stormy  sky, 
And  calms  the  roaring  seas. 

The  noble  hymn  ie  thus  equalized,  and  saved  from  those 
occasional  lapses  into  weaknesses  which  so  sadly  break  the 
grand  march  of  some  of  Watts' s  best  productions.  What 
additional  dignity  Wesley  gives  to  Watts' s  version  of  the 
Psalm  cslvi.  by  a  slight  alteration  of  two  lines,  changing 

I'll  praise  my  Maker  with  my  breath, 
into 

I'll  praise  my  Maker  ichile  I've  breath, 
and  rendering 

The  Lord  hath  eyes  to  give  the  blind, 
thus — 

The  Lord  poiirs  eyesight  on  the  blind. 

Still  more  remarkable  is  the  improvement  in  the  hymn  on 
"  Christ  dying,  rising,  and  reigning."  Watts' s  first  verse 
begins  too  fondly,  and  then  becomes  puerile. 

He  dies !     The  heavenly  Lover  dies ! 

The  tidings  strike  a  doleful  sound 
On  my  poor  heart-strings.     Deep  He  lies 

In  the  cold  caverns  of  the  ground. 

Wesley's  improvement  opens  with  great  beauty  of  thought 
and  grandeur  of  imagery,  consistently  leading  the  mind 
into  the  noble  strain  of  the  following  verses — 


158  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HTMNS. 

He  dies !     The  Friend  of  sinners  dies  ! 

Lo!  Salem's  daiighters  weep  aronnd; 
A  solemn  darkness  veils  the  skies, 

A  sudden  tremblimg  shakes  the  ground. 

The  Cliristian  Cliiircli  will  never  cease  to  enjoy  tlie  grand 
swell  of  the  Psalm  c.  as  given  by  Watts  ;  but  thanks  will 
ever  be  due  to  Wesley  for  making  the  first  verses  worthy 
of  the  last.  Watts's  verses  begin  without  much  pro- 
mise : — 

Sing  to  the  Lord  with  joyful  voice ; 

Let  every  land  His  name  adore  ; 
The  British  isles  shall  send  the  noise 

Across  the  ocean  to  the  shore. 

Nations  attend  before  His  throne 
With  solemn  fear,  -with  sacred  joy. 

Wesley  drops  the  first  verse,  and  begins  the  second 
thus: — 

Before  Jehovah's  awful  throne, 
Ye  nations,  bow  with  sacred  joy; 

giving  a  noble  completeness  to  the  hymn,  opening  it  with 
a  majesty  suitable  to  its  continued  swell,  and  preparing 
us  for  that  sublime  close  which  leaves  the  devout  multi- 
tude rapt  before  God  in  solemn  joy. 

We'll  crowd  thy  gates  with  thankful  songs. 

High  as  the  heavens  ovir  voices  raise  ;  ' 

And  earth,  with  her  ten  thousand  tongues. 
Shall  fill  Thy  courts  with  sounding-  praise. 

Wide  as  the  world  is  Thy  command. 

Vast  as  eternity  Thy  love  ; 
Firm  as  a  rock  Thy  truth  shall  stand, 

When  rolling  years  shall  cease  to  move. 

The  Wesleyan  hymn-menders  are  not  always  as  happy,  in 
dealing  with  other  hymnists,  as  in  their  emendations  of 
Watts.  For  instance,  when  they  alter  that  beautiful  hymn 
by  Berridge — 

Jesus,  cast  a  look  on  me, 

and  place  the  altered  form  in  their  collection  as  beginning 
with 

Lord,  that  I  may  learn  of  Thee. 


HYMN- MENDERS.  159 

The  original  should  have  been  held  sacred.  It  is  founded 
on  Psalm  cxxxi.  2,  "My  soul  is  even  as  a  weaned  child." 
Thus  :— 

Jesus,  cast  a  look  on  me, 
Give  me  STveet  simplicity ; 
Make  me  poor,  and  kee-p  me  low, 
Seeking  only  Thee  to  know. 

"Weaned  from  my  lordly  self, 
Weaned  from  the  miser's  pelf. 
Weaned  from  the  sconier's  ways, 
Weaned  from  the  lust  of  praise. 

All  that  feeds  my  busy  pride. 
Cast  it  evermore  aside  ; 
Bid  my  will  to  Thine  submit, 
Lay  me  humbly  at  Thy  feet. 

Make  me  like  a  little  child. 
Of  my  strength  and  wisdom  spoil'd  ; 
Seeing-  only  in  Thy  light, 
Walking  only  in  Thy  might. 

Leaning  on  Thy  loving  breast, 
Where  a  weary  soul  may  rest ; 
Feeling  well  the  peace  of  God, 
Flowing  from  Thy  precious  blood  I 

In  this  pasture  let  me  live, 
And  hosannas  daily  give  ; 
In  this  temper  let  me  die, 
And  hosannas  ever  cry ! 

It  must  be  said  of  John  Wesley,  that  whether  he  worked 
as  compiler,  or  critic,  or  hymn-writer,  he  evidently  worked 
with  a  pure  aim.  His  object  was  to  provide  for  his  peoj^le 
a  hymn-book  distinguished  by  completeness  of  rhyme,  a 
large  variety  of  metre,  energy  of  thought  and  expression, 
soimd  argument,  thorough  evangelical  orthodoxy,  and 
pure  and  warm  religious  feeling.  The  great  popularity 
and  widening  usefulness  of  his  collection  show  the  measure 
of  his  success.  Many  peojile  woidd  naturally  ask  what 
sort  of  hymns  such  a  hymn-mender  as  he  coulcl  write.  He 
wrote  but  few.  But  these  few  fairly  sustain  his  claims  as 
a  worthy  member  of  a  poetic  family,  and  a  leader  among 
the  hymnists  of  his  day.  One  of  his  hymns  is  highly 
characteristic  at  once  of  his  genius  and  his  religious  charac- 


160  hy:mn-vkitebs  ajstd  their  hymn's. 

ter,  and  marks  some  peculiar  phases  of  his  experience,  as 
■well  as  some  points  of  his  personal  history.  The  hymn 
may  be  called  "  the  Pilgrim's  Hymn:  " — 

How  hapijy  is  the  pilgrim's  lot ! 
How  free  from  every  anxious  thought, 

From  worldly  hope  and  fear ! 
Confined  to  neither  court  nor  cell, 
His  soul  disdains  on  earth  to  dwell, 

His  only  sojourn 's  here. 

His  happiness  in  part  is  mine, 
Already  saved  from  low  design, 

From  every  creature  love  ; 
Blest  with  the  scorn  of  finite  good, 
My  soul  is  lightened  of  its  load. 

And  seeks  the  things  above. 

The  things  eternal  I  pursue ; 
A  happiness  beyond  the  view 

Of  those  that  basely  pant 
For  things  by  nature  felt  and  seen  ; 
Their  honours,  wealth,  and  pleasures  mean, 

I  neither  have  nor  want. 

I  have  no  babes  to  hold  me  here ; 
But  childi-en  more  secui'ely  dear, 

For  mine  I  humbly  claim ; 
Better  than  daughters  or  than  sons, 
Temples  divine  of  living  stones. 

Inscribed  with  Jesu's  name. 

No  foot  of  land  do  I  possess. 
No  cottage  in  this  wilderness ; 

A  poor  waj'f  aring  man, 
I  lodge  awhile  in  tents  below. 
Or  gladly  wander  to  and  fro. 

Till  I  my  Canaan  gain. 

Nothing  on  earth  I  call  my  own  ; 
A  stranger,  to  the  world  unknown, 

I  all  their  goods  despise  ; 
I  trample  on  their  whole  delight, 
And  seek  a  country  out  of  sight, 

A  country  in  the  skies. 

There  is  my  house,  my  portion  fair ; 
My  treasure  and  my  heart  are  there. 

And  my  abiding  home ; 
For  me  my  elder  brethren  stay, 
And  angels  beckon  me  away. 

And  Jesus  bids  me  come. 


HYMN-MENDEES.  161 

I  come — Thy  servant,  Lord,  replies — 
I  come  to  meet  Thee  in  the  skies, 

And  claim  my  heavenly  rest ! 
Now  let  the  pilgrim's  journey  end  ; 
Now,  O  my  Saviour,  Brother,  Friend, 

Receive  me  to  Thy  breast ! 

One  stanza  is  now  generally  omitted.  It  was  written 
probably  wbile  be  was  unmarried  ;  and  under  tbe  influence 
of  views  sometimes  peculiar  to  unmarried  life — 

I  have  no  sharer  of  my  heart, 
To  rob  my  Saviour  of  a  part. 

And  desecrate  the  whole  : 
Only  betrothed  to  Christ  am  I, 
And  wait  His  coming  from  the  sky, 

To  wed  my  happy  soul. 

There  have  been  many  Christian  souls  who,  during  some 
period  of  their  life,  would  take  up  the  language  of  this 
remarkable  hymn,  and  sing  it  on  their  lonely  way.  It 
may  be  said  of  some  one  part  of  many  a  man's  life-journey, 
"it  was  desert"  ;  and  that  desert  part  he  may  have  gone 
over  single-handed,  scripless  and  alone.  How  often,  in 
such  cases,  has  the  music  of  this  hymn  risen  on  the  silent 
air,  as  an  acceptable  sacrifice  of  holy  confidence,  gratitude, 
and  joy.  Of  one  singular  character,  at  least,  it  may  be  said 
that  he  could  adopt  it,  and  use  it  from  his  first  starting  in 
Christian  life  to  his  final  hour.  To  those  who  knew  him, 
and  many,  many  in  the  west  of  England  were  thankful  to 
know  him,  it  seemed  as  if  the  hymn  were  made  for  him. 
Nor  was  there  a  day  through  his  somewhat  lengthened  life 
in  which  some  stanza  of  it  was  not  on  his  lips.  "  Foolish 
Dick,"  people  called  him,  and  not  without  some  share  of 
reason.  In  early  life  he  was  enough  of  an  idiot  to  be 
unequal  to  any  labour  that  required  a  tolerable  amount  of 
regulated  thought  or  skill.  But  he  proved  to  be  one  of 
those  whose  history  strikingly  shows  the  quickening, 
expanding,  and  regulating  power  of  vital  religion  on  the 
human  intellect,  even  in  its  nearest  approaches  to  hopeless 
idiocy.  Dick  was  one  morning  on  his  way  to  the  well  for 
water,  when  an  old  Christian  man  who  was  leaning  over 
the  garden  gate  said,  "  So  you  are  going  to  the  well  for 
water,  Dick  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.". 


162  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

"  "Well,  Dick ;  the  woman  of  Samaria  found  Jesus  Christ 
at  the  weU." 

"Did  she,  sir?" 

"Yes,  Dick." 

That  was  enough.  A  quickening  thought  had  struck 
into  his  half-awakened  mind.  The  thought  worked ;  and 
when  he  came  to  the  well,  he  said,  within  himself,  but  loud 
enough  to  he  heard  by  his  Saviour,  "  Why  should  not  I  find 
Jesus  Christ  at  the  well  ?  Oh  that  I  could  find  Him  !  WiU 
He  come  to  we?"  Yes,  his  prayer  was  heard;  and  Dick 
returned  bearing  his  full  pitcher;  but  bringing  in  his  heart, 
too,  the  joy  of  which  Jesus  said,  "  It  shall  be  in  him  a  well 
of  water,  springing  up  into  everlasting  life."  From  that 
hour,  Dick  "left  his  watering-pot";  and  gave  himself  up 
to  the  work  of  telling  his  neighbours  the  story  of  his  con- 
version at  the  well,  and  indeed  to  the  work  of  preacliing 
Christ,  in  his  way,  in  discourses  marked  by  strong  sense, 
warm  feeling,  and  stirring  appeals  to  the  sinner's  conscience 
and  heart.  Every  facidty  of  his  mind,  and  all  the  passions 
of  his  soul  now  seemed  to  unfold  new  powers  and  fresh  life. 
He  was  verily  born  again.  His  memory  soon  showed 
marvellous  power.  To  hear  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  or  a 
hj'mn  read  to  him,  was  to  know  it,  and  to  have  power  to 
reproduce  it.  His  new  gifts  were  used  for  Christ.  He  went 
forth  as  an  itinerant  evangelist ;  going  without  piirse  or 
scrip  ;  and  through  a  life-long  pilgrimage  round  and  round 
his  native  county,  and  sometimes  over  the  Border,  he  went 
everywhere  preaching  Jesus.  He  never  lacked  food  or 
raiment,  and  when  he  entered  into  rest,  many,  many  happy 
spirits  hailed  him  as  the  instrument  of  their  salvation  from 
sin  and  death.  He  was  indeed  a  pilgrim  preacher,  rude 
and  unpolished,  as  some  thoiight,  but  certainly  taught  of 
Christ.  The  "Pilgrim's  Hj-mn  "  was  always  in  keeping 
from  his  lips.  It  was  his  favourite  hymn,  and  every  home 
that  welcomed  him  had  its  hearth  cheered  by  his  music;  for 
he  would  sit  and  wave  too  and  fro,  and  sing,  in  a  way  that 
set  forth  the  elegant  simplicity  of  the  lines — 

No  foot  of  land  do  I  possess. 
No  cottage  in  this  -wilderness ; 

A  poor  waj'iariiig'  man, 
T  lodge  awhile  in  tents  below  ; 
Or  gladly  wander  to  and  fro, 

Till  I  my  Canaan  gain. 


HYMN-MElfDEIlS.  163 

This  was  his  song  all  through  the  land  of  his  pilgrimage. 
And  not  long  ago,  followed  by  the  blessings  of  his  genera- 
tion, the  weary  old  pilgrim  departed,  to  realize  the  full 
answer  to  his  last  stanza — 

Now  let  tlie  pilgrim's  journey  end ; 
Now,  O  my  Saviour,  Brother,  Friend, 
Eeceiye  me  to  Thy  breast ! 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

HYMNS  OF  CREATION. 

"  Thou  art  worthy,  0  Lord,  to  receive  glory  and  honour  and  power: 
for  Thou  hast  created  all  things,  and  for  Thy  pleasure  they  are  and 
were  created." 

"I  ONCE  joined  a  party  for  a  day's  j)leasure  trij)  in  the  west 
of  England,"  says  an  old  rambler ;  "  onr  plan  was  to  get  to 
the  top  of  the  highest  hill  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  there 
for  a  time  take  our  fill  of  joy  from  the  grandeur  and  beauty 
of  the  scenes  around  and  beneath  us.  Alas,  for  human 
pleasures  !  The  morning  opened  with  rain,  and  we  were 
seemingly  doomed  to  disappointment.  At  length,  encour- 
aged by  some  weather-wise  folks,  we  resolved  to-accomplish 
our  piu'pose,  even  at  the  risk  of  wet  jackets  by  the  way. 
We  climbed  the  steeps  in  spite  of  wind  and  rain,  and  came 
by  and  by,  on  the  highest  peak,  to  some  steps  leading  to 
the  door  of  an  old  tower,  which  from  time  immemorial  had 
withstood  the  rush  of  years  and  storms.  As  we  mounted 
these  steps,  we  found,  to  our  wonderment  and  delight,  that 
on  looking  out,  our  eyes  glanced  along  the  upper  surface  of 
the  clouds ;  and  when  we  had  fairly  reached  the  roof  of 
the  old  tower,  there  was  nothing  of  our  native  earth  to  be 
seen  but  the  few  square  feet  of  stone-work  on  which  we 
stood.  Beneath  us  was  an  ocean  of  clouds  ;  above  us  were 
the  bright  blue  heavens.  The  sun  had  gone  down  just  to 
the  horizon,  where  the  clear  sky  touched  the  cloud-billows. 
The  faint-looking  crescent  of  the  new  moon  was  peeping  on 
us  too  from  above  the  offing  line  of  the  cloudy  deep.  "We 
could  hear  the  carol  of  a  lark,  but  otherwise  the  silence  of 
nature  was  profound  and  solemn.  AVe  felt  ourselves  for 
once  beyond  the  sight  and  sound  of  the  world  which  gave 


HYMA'S  OF  CEEATION.  165 

US  birth.       One  voice  uttered  the  key-note,  and  then,  as  if 
we  had  hut  one  soul,  we  sang — 

High  in  the  heavens,  Eternal  God, 

Thy  goodness  in  full  giory  shines  ; 
Thy  truth  shall  break  through  every  cloud 

That  veils  and  darkens  Thy  designs. 

For  ever  firm  Thy  justice  stands, 

As  mountains  their  foundations  keep  ; 

Wise  are  the  wonders  of  Thy  hands ; 
Thy  judgments  are  a  mighty  deep. 

There  was  a  charm  in  psalmodj^  at  that  moment  which  I 
had  never  felt  before,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  that  charm 
were  acknowledged  by  nature  ;  for  just  at  this  moment 
there  were  movements  in  the  cloud-world  beneath  us — the 
masses  were  rolling,  heaving,  and  cleaving  here  and  there. 
Now  the  top  of  a  green  hill  appeared,  like  an  island  rising 
from  the  depths  to  court  the  sunlight ;  now  a  slope  was 
seen  opening  from  beneath  the  passing  mist ;  now  a  spire 
rose  above  the  surface  ;  and  now  a  village  peeped  on  the 
hill-side,  and  the  clustering  roofs  of  a  more  distant  town 
sparkled  as  the  sunbeams  touched  them.  The  clouds 
resolved  themselves  at  length  into  river-like  courses,  filling 
the  valleys  and  leaving  the  uplands  to  show  themselves. 
The  rivers  narrowed,  became  shallow  streams,  and  at  last, 
like  silvery  threads,  they  ran  off  towards  the  shore,  until 
every  filmy  vapour  was  gone,  even  from  the  face  of  the 
sea,  and  the  whole  scene,  with  its  glorious  variety  of  hill 
and  plain,  valley  and  heath,  woods  and  ocean,  lay  bright, 
calm,  and  beautiful  beneath  the  setting  sun.  Fresh  in- 
spiration now  came  upon  us,  and  we  sang  again — 

God  is  a  name  my  soul  adores, 

Th'  Almighty  Three,  th'  eternal  One, 
Nature  and  grace,  with  all  their  powers, 

Confess  the  infinite  Unknown. 

From  Thy  great  self  Thy  being  springs  ; 

Thou  art  Thy  own  original, 
Made  up  of  uncreated  things, 

And  self-sulficience  bears  them  all. 

Thy  voice  produced  the  seas  and  spheres, 

Bid  the  waves  roar  and  planets  shine  ; 
But  nothing  like  Thyself  appears 

Through  all  these  spacious  works  of  Thine. 


166  HTMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Still  restless  nature  dies  and  grows  ; 

From  change  to  change  the  creatures  run ; 
Thy  being  no  succession  knows, 

And  all  Thy  vast  designs  are  one. 

A  glance  of  Thine  runs  through  the  globes, 
Eides  the  bright  world,  and  moves  their  frame  : 

Broad  sheets  of  light  compose  Thy  robes, 
Thy  guards  are  formed  of  living  flame. 

Thrones  and  dominions  round  Thee  fall, 

And  worship  in  submissive  forms ; 
Thy  presence  shakes  this  lower  ball, 

Tlus  little  dwelling-place  of  worms. 

How  shall  affrighted  mortals  dare 

To  sing  Thy  glory  or  Thy  grace; 
Beneath  Thy  feet  we  lie  so  far. 

And  see  but  shadows  of  Thy  face. 

Who  can  behold  the  blazing  light  ? 

Who  can  approach  consuming  flame  ? 
None  but  Thy  wisdom  knows  Thy  might, 

None  but  Thy  word  can  speak  Thy  name. 

"'Well,'  said  one,  as  we  came  down  from  the  tower,  'I 
never  before  felt  tlie  music  and  power  of  those  fine  old 
hymns  so  deeply.  "Watts  does  not  always  keep  us  up  so 
steadily  to  the  end  of  the  strain.  Dear  old  singer!  he  had 
times  of  deep  sympathy  with  the  natiu-al  world,  and  often 
helps  one,  as  he  helped  us  to-day,  to  catch  the  inspiring- 
breath  of  natural  grandeur  and  beauty,  so  as  to  feel  as  if 
we  were  one  with  all  the  works  of  our  heavenly  Father.' 

"  'Yes,'  said  somebody  else  ;  'but  we  owe  much  of  our 
enjoyment  of  Watts  to  association,  to  the  lingering  in- 
fluence of  our  early  impressions  about  his  hymns ;  and  a 
great  deal,  too,  in  his  case,  depends  on  the  music  to  which 
his  hymns  are  set.  We  enjoy  his  verses  when  they  are  sung 
more  frequently  than  when  we  read  them.  I  have  a  notion 
that  it  is  with  his  hymns  somewhat  as  it  is  with  many  of 
Thomas  Moore's  "Irish  Melodies";  about  which  I  am 
very  willing  to  admit  all  that  is  said  as  to  their  graceful 
thought,  their  tender  pathos,  and  bursts  of  heroic  feeling. 
They  have  wonderful  melody  of  words,  too  ;  but  it  strikes 
me  that  we  have  learnt  to  award  to  Moore's  verses  much 
that  really  belongs  to  the  old  tunes  for  which  he  provided 
the  words.     At  all  events,   in  reading  many  of  them  you 


HYMNS  OF  CREATIOX.  1G7 

but  seldom  find  your  soul  arrested,  while  to  hear  them 
sung  is  to  be  mastered  by  the  feeling  which  they  create. 
Now,  speaking  of  Tom  Moore,  I  like  him  best  when  he 
gets  away  from  amidst  the  rather  wearisome  gorgeousness 
of  his  Eastern  imager}^,  and  from  the  brilliant  circles  in 
which  his  genius  and  wit  so  brightly  sparkle,  and  allows 
himself  to  be  hushed  into  a  devout  feeling  within  the 
quietude  of  his  cottage  retreat.  I  like  to  find  him  in  that 
little  Wiltshire  home,  with  its  old-fashioned  windows  and 
trellised  doorway,  hung  about  with  creepers  and  ever- 
greens, and  surrounded  by  such  touching  evidences  of 
Divine  goodness  as  melt  the  heart,  and  constrain  the 
genius  to  express  itself  in  hymns  and  spiritual  songs. 
You  say  Watts  had  times  of  deep  sympathy  with  the 
natural  world — had  not  Moore  ?  And  had  he  not  some 
reverent  sympathy  with  the  God  of  nature,  too  ?  And  does 
he  not  help  us  to  praise  the  source  of  life  and  beauty  V 
Only  listen  to  this  :  — 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  Kght 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  ;    . 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  Thee. 

Where'er  we  turn,  Thy  glories  shine, 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine. 

When  day,  with  fare"s\"ell  beam,  delays 

Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 
And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven : 
Those  hues  that  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord,  are  Thine. 

When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 

O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 
Like  some  dark  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 

Is  sparkling  with  unuvunbered  eyes : 
That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  di%dne, 
So  grand,  so  countless.  Lord,  are  Thine. 

When  youthful  spring  around  us  breathes, 
Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

And  every  flower  the  siunmer  -^Teathes, 
Is  boru  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn.  Thy  glories  shine, 

And  aU  things  bright  and  fair  are  Thine. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  a  pleasant-looking  companion,  as  we  all 


1 68  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

flung  ourselves  clown  among  tlie  heath,  as  if  we  were  all 
disposed  to  keep  xip  the  chat  about  hymns,  '  yes,  Moore  is 
much  to  my  taste  in  a  few  of  his  hymns ;  and  I  wish  some 
severe  people  that  I  know  would  get  a  little  more  of  his 
spirit.  I  know  some  who  seem  to  have  a  notion  that  a 
knowledge  and  enjoyment  of  nature  is  so  distinct  from 
inward  religion  as  to  be  opposed  to  it,  that  warm  devotion 
to  the  one  almost  necessarily  excludes  any  eminent  success 
in  the  pursuit  of  the  other.  This  notion  leads  them  to  set 
God's  works  in  opposition  to  His  Word,  and  to  view  what 
they  call  natural  religion  as  altogether  independent  of 
revealed  truth.  But  I  think  a  deeper  insight  into  the 
sacred  volume  convinces  us  that,  as  the  harmony  of  the 
Divine  character  is  absolutely  perfect,  so  all  the  manifesta- 
tions of  that  character  to  man  are  in  sacred  concord, 
whether  they  come  as  reflections  from  nature  or  revelations 
of  the  Spirit.  While  the  mere  intellect  is  cultivated  to 
the  neglect  of  the  heart,  or  the  will  or  affections  are  in- 
dulged at  the  expense  of  the  understanding,  the  nature  of 
man  is  out  of  course,  and  his  character  is  so  discordant  in 
itself  that  he  is  incapable  of  discovering  the  invariable 
agreement  of  the  natural  and  the  spiritual,  of  religion  and 
science.  This  Divine  unison  can  be  known  and  enjoyed  by 
none  but  the  harmonized  soul.  The  human  spirit  must  be 
attimed  to  the  voice  of  God.  The  sanctified  intellect  must 
act  in  concert  with  the  purified  heart.  The  rectified  will 
must  fully  accord  with  the  Word  of  God.  And  then  the 
visible  universe  and  the  region  of  mind,  the  creature,  the 
Word,  and  the  Spirit,  the  world  without  and  the  world 
within,  all  harmonize  aroimd  the  happy  man,  and  lead  him 
to  his  God.  Now,  you  have  spoken  of  Thomas  Moore 
and  his  "  Irish  Melodies  "  ;  let  me  illustrate  what  I  have 
said  by  a  song  from  old  Ireland.  It  comes  from  a  quiet 
rectory  in  county  Antrim,  and  shows  that  the  truly 
harmonized  Christian  soul  can  exercise  its  hallowed  genius 
in  hymns  to  the  God  of  nature,  and  teach  us  to  live  in  the 
spirit  of  that  hymnist  who  said,  "All  Thy  works  praise 
Thee,  0  Lord ;  and  Thy  saints  bless  Thee."  Listen  to  John 
S.  B.  Monsell's  song : — 

Oh,  wliat  a  gloomy,  cheerless  scene, 
A  world  accursed  might  have  been, 
If  He,  who  in  His  mercy  hath 
Strew' d  such  delight  along  life's  path. 


HYMA'S  OF  CREATION.  169 

Had  changed  each  passing  hreath  and  sound 
That  floats  in  harmony  around, 
To  discords,  such  as  would  destroy 
Sensation's  every  pulse  of  joy  ! 

But  He  who  bids  us  seek  His  face 
Makes  Nature  handmaiden  to  Grace ; 
And  lest  our  souls — to  earth  too  prone — 
Should  faint  before  they  reach  the  throne, 
The  sea  beneath,  the  sky  above, 
Hath  form'd  as  mirrors  of  His  love ; 
And  ev'ry  rock,  and  flow'r,  and  tree, 
Made  vocal  for  eternity. 

Where'er  we  move  or  walk  abroad, 
"We  see,  we  feel  a  present  God  ! 
The  very  balm  that  scents  the  air 
Breathes  of  a  piirer  essence  there ; 
The  bubbling  runnels,  as  they  flow, 
Chant  sweetest  anthems  soft  and  low  ; 
And  every  bird,  from  bush  and  brake, 
To  praise,  the  sylvan  echoes  wake. 

Nature,  Avith  one  harmonioiis  voice, 
Seems  in  her  Maker  to  rejoice  ; 
Earth's  flowers  reflect  Him  in  their  bloom, 
And  breathe  His  praise  in  rich  perfume. 
The  sun  by  day,  the  moon  by  nig-ht, 
The  stars,  those  heavenly  flow'rs  of  light. 
All  in  one  sweet  accord,  His  name 
Almighty !  Wonderful !  proclaim. 

And  oh,  shall  I,  when  flowers  and  trees, 
Things  soulless,  senseless,  such  as  these, 
Live  to  His  praise,  as  though  they  seemed 
His  own.  His  purchas'd.  His  redeem' d ! 
Shall  I,  for  whom  His  blood  was  poured, 
The  blood  of  the  Incarnate  Lord, 
Be  silent,  when  this  heart  should  raise 
To  its  Redeemer  hymns  of  praise  ? 

Lord,  when  among  the  songs  of  earth, 
Forgetful  of  my  heavenly  birth, 
My  harp  hangs  on  the  willow-tree. 
And  renders  back  no  praise  to  Thee  ; 
Let  the  sweet  hymns  of  those  who  know 
Not  half  the  debt  of  love  I  owe. 
If  not  for  love,  at  least  for  shame. 
Move  this  dull  soul  to  praise  Thy  name. 

"  'This  is  one  of  the  tuneful  "Parish  Musings  "  which 
vre  owe  to  Mr.  Monsell's  hallowed  taste  and  heart,  open  as 
they  have  been  to  the  music  of  his  Saviour's  voice,  and  as. 


170  HYMN-WEITERS  AIs^D  THEIR  HYIIXS. 

in  companionship  with,  the  blessed  Spirit,  they  have  had 
suggestions  from  the  "incidents  or  feelings  of  each 
passing  day,"  as  he  tells  us,  "in  storm  or  sunshine,  by 
the  way-side  or  on  the  hill-top,  in  the  country  meadow  or 
the  busy  street,  by  day  or  by  night,  wherever  duty  called, 
and  whenever  the  spiiit  caught  from  without  or  from  within 
subject  matter  for  serious  conversation  with  heaven."  I  like 
the  way  in  which  he  infuses  the  Christian  element  into  his 
song  of  creation.  Some  professing  Christians  seem  never 
to  have  either  taste  or  heart  for  anj'thing  but  what  they 
term  evangelical  doctrine  and  experience  ;  the  outer  world 
is  never  allowed  to  associate  its  happy  influences  with  what 
they  call  their  "inner  life."  But  Christianity  is  love — love 
to  Grod,  and  love  for  everything  which  bears  His  image,  or 
is  marked  by  Him  as  lovable.  "  "VVe  love  Him,"  says  an 
apostle,  "  because  He  first  loved  us."  His  love  to  us  is 
shown  first,  and  above  all,  in  His  only-begotten  Son  Jesus 
Christ.  But  as  He  "  created  all  things  by  Jesus  Christ," 
as  Christ  "upholds  all  things  by  the  word  of  His  power," 
and  as,  by  virtue  of  the  Redeemer's  cross,  all  things  are 
to  be  reconciled  and  harmonized,  ' '  whether  they  be  things 
in  earth  or  things  in  heaven,"  all  who  truly  love  God,  and 
hold  loving  communion  with  "the  Father  and  His  Son 
Jesus  Christ,"  will  be  affectionately  ready  to  catch  reflec- 
tions of  His  love  from  everything  that  bears  His  impress, 
everything  on  which  his  mind  and  heart  are  set.  The  well- 
regulated  Christian  heart  will  turn  pleasantly  towards  the 
tiniest  thing  for  which  God  cares,  or  in  which  Jesus  has 
shown  an  interest.  All  beauty,  all  grandeur,  all  light,  all 
life,  all  melodies,  harmonies,  and  fitnesses  of  things  are 
His  ;  He  made  them,  He  loves  them,  His  sympathy  with 
all  is  perfect.  And  so  they  are  objects  of  admiration, 
sympathy,  and  love  to  human  souls,  just  as  these  souls 
are  "perfect  as  He,  their  heavenly  Father,  is  perfect."  The 
noblest  minds,  the  greatest  hearts,  the  most  Christlike 
characters  are  those  who,  with  the  deepest  spiritual 
intercourse  with  the  heavenly  and  the  unseen,  have  the 
most  tender,  gentle,  childlike  attachment  to  everything 
that  God  smiles  upon  in  visible  life.  Now,  I  am  disposed 
to  class  the  author  of  the  "Christian  Year"  with  these; 
he  is  not  always  equal.  In  a  few  instances  his  verses  lack 
vigour,  are  simply  pretty ;  but  when  he  hymns  it  in  his 


HYMNS  OF  CKEATION.  171 

best  style,  he  gives  iis  a  sweet  relish  for  that  devotion 
which  seems  at  once  to  hnsh  and  exalt  tlxe  soul  amidst  the 
analogies  of  creation.  How  beantifully  he  interweaves 
nature  and  grace,  the  visible  and  the  invisible,  in  his 
hymn  for  Septuagesima  Sunday : — 

There  is  a  book  who  runs  may  read, 

Which  heav'nly  truth  imparts  ; 
And  all  the  love  its  scholars  need, 

Pure  eyes  and  Christian  hearts. 

The  works  of  God  above,  below. 

Within  us  and  around, 
Are  pages  in  that  book  to  show 

How  God  Himself  is  found. 

The  glorious  sky,  embracing  all. 

Is  like  the  Maker's  love, 
Wlierewith  encompass' d,  great  and  small. 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

The  moon  above,  the  church  below, 

A  wondrous  race  they  run  ; 
But  all  their  radiance,  all  their  glow. 

Each  borrows  of  its  sun. 

The  Saviour  lends  the  light  and  heat 

That  crowns  His  holy  hill ; 
The  saints,  like  stars,  aroiind  His  seat, 

Perform  the  courses  still. 

The  saints  above  are  stars  in  heaven — 

What  are  the  saints  on  earth  ? 
Like  trees  they  stand  whom  God  has  given. 

Our  Eden's  happy  birth. 

Faith  is  their  fix'd,  unswerving  root, 

Hope  their  unfading  flower ; 
Fair  deeds  of  charity  their  fruit. 

The  glory  of  their  bower. 

The  dew  of  heaven  is  like  Thy  grace. 

It  steals  in  silence  down  ; 
But  where  it  lights,  the  favoiu-'d  place 

By  richest  fruits  is  known. 

One  name  above  all  glorious  names. 

With  its  ten  thousand  tongues, 
The  everlasting  sea  proclaims. 

Echoing  angelic  songs. 


172  HYMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  raging  fire,  the  roaring  -wind, 

Thy  boundless  power  display ; 
But  in  the  gentler  breeze  we  find 

Thy  Spirit's  viewless  way. 

Two  worlds  are  ours :  'tis  only  sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within. 

Plain  as  the  sea  and  sky. 

Thou  who  hast  given  me  eyes  to  see 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  me  a  heart  to  find  out  Thee, 

And  read  Thee  everjnvhere.' 

' ' '  Thank  yon, '  cried  one  of  our  most  earnest  young  men — 
one  whose  full  round  bass  voice  I  have  often  admired  when 
coming'  into  the  chorus  swell  of  a  jubilant  psalm  or  anthem, 
'  thank  you.  John  Keble  often  succeeds,  as  he  does  in  this 
case,  in  making  us  feel  what  he  calls  "that  soothing  tendency 
in  the  Prayer-Book  "  ;  and  which,  as  he  adds,  "it  is  the 
chief  purj)ose  of "  his  hymns  "to  exhibit."  But  now,  by 
way  of  a  little  variation,  let  us  have  that  spirited  and  in- 
spiriting psalm  of  George  Wither' s,  which  seems  to  bring 
up  around  one's  expanding  and  rising  heart  all  the  voices 
and  instruments  that  heaven  and  earth  can  muster,  to 
swell  the  mighty  chorus  of  creation  before  the  throne  of 
its  Maker.  Come ! '  said  he  starting  up,  and  beckoning 
us  into  position,  '  come  let  us  chant  it ! ' — 

Come,  oh  come  !  in  pious  lays 

Sound  we  God  Almighty's  praise; 

Hither  bring  in  one  consent, 

Heart  and  voice,  and  instrument. 

Music  add,  of  ev'ry  kind  ;  ' 

Sound  the  trump,  the  cornet  wind ; 

Strike  the  viol,  touch  the  lute; 

Let  no  tongue,  nor  string  be  mute ; 

Nor  a  creature  dumb  be  found. 

That  hath  either  voice  or  sound. 

Let  those  things  which  do  not  live 
In  still  music  praises  give : 
Lowly  pipe,  ye  worm^s  that  creep 
On  the  earth  or  in  the  deep  : 
Loud  aloft  your  voices  strain, 
Beasts  and  monsters  of  the  main : 
Birds,  your  warbling  treble  sing  ; 
Clouds,  your  peals  of  thunder  ring : 

Sun  and  moon,  exalted  higher, 

And  bright  stars  augment  this  choir. 


HYilXS  OF  CEEATIOX.  1  ,  o 

Come,  ye  sons  of  liuman  race, 
In  this  chorus  take  a  place, 
Ajid  amid  the  mortal  throng, 
Be  you  masters  of  the  song. 
Angels,  and  supernal  powers, 
Be  the  noblest  tenor  yours ; 
Let  in  praise  of  God,  the  sound 
Eim  a  never-ending  round  : 

That  our  song  of  j^raise  may  be 

Everlasting  as  is  He. 

From  earth's  vast  and  hollow  womb, 
irusic's  deepest  bass  may  come  ; 
Seas  and  floods,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Shall  their  counter-tenors  roar. 
To  this  consort  when  we  sing-, 
Whistling  winds,  your  descants  bring ; 
That  our  song  may  over  climb 
All  the  bounds  of  place  and  time, 

And  ascend  from  sphere  to  sphere, 

To  the  great  Almighty's  ear. 

So  from  heaven,  on  earth  He  shaU 
Let  His  gracious  blessings  f  aU ; 
And  this  huge,  wide  orb  we  see, 
Shall  one  choir,  one  temple  be ; 
Where,  iu  such  a  praise,  full  tone 
We  win  sing  what  He  hath  done, 
'  That  the  ciu-sed  fiends  below 

Shall  thereat  impatient  grow. 

Then,  oh  come,  in  pious  lays, 

Sound  we  God  Almighty's  praise. 

"  Our  united  cliant  seemed  to  awaken  a  kind  of  emulation 
in  calling  up  favourite  hymns.  Tlie  scenes  around  us  ap- 
peared to  claim  our  homage  to  one  theme.  Our  songs  must 
all  be  songs  of  creation.  It  was  suggested  that  a  woman's 
voice  had  sometimes  given  forth  sweet  melodies ;  could  any 
of  us  remember  a  hymn  from  among  the  daughters  of  holy 
song?  Yes,  of  course;  whose  mind  did  not  go  off  at  once  to 
that  comfortable-looking  old  house  in  the  village  of  Brough- 
ton  in  Hampshire,  with  its  high  roof  and  massive  chimneys, 
its  anticjue  porch  and  riu'al  garden  palisades  overshadowed 
by  the  trees  which  beautified  Theodosia's  village  birth- 
place on  the  borders  of  the  '  Downs' '?  Theodosia !  '  The 
gift  of  God  '  ;  and  '  eminently  so  in  this  world  of  ours ' ; 
and  who  would  not  think  of  that  affectionate  address  to 
Theodosia's  niece,  by  an  old  friend  who  loved  her  memory, 
and  has  helped  us  to  love  it  too  ? — 


174  HYMK-WRITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Still  I  am  musing  in  your  nistic  bower, 

Under  that  moss-deck'd  roof;  and  gaze  in  thought, 

Down  the  soft  turfy  vista,  where,  between 

Those  aged  pines  (friends  of  yovir  infancy), 

The  fleeting  sunshine  and  the  broader  shade 

Picture  our  path  to  heaven.     I  trace  the  walk, 

"Where  at  this  noontide  hour,  no  foot  perhaps 

Is  seen :  but  thought  hath  iDeox^led  it.     I  see 

In  fancy's  telescopic  mirror,  forms 

Of  some  that  were — that  are,  that  would  be  there. 

I  mark  the  forms  that  were  there  :  those  who  walk'd 
With  God,  and  spake  to  artless  minds  of  Him ; 
And,  with  them,  one  who  pour'd  a  sylvan  strain 
Of  meek  devotion  in  those  quiet  shades — 
Bequeathing  thence  her  Christian  heart  and  hope 
To  other  generations. 

"  Let  tlie  scene  be  immortalized ;  that  terrace  walk  look- 
ing clown  on  tlie  slirnbbery  and  garden,  and  tlie  avenue 
of  firs,  where,  about  the  middle  of  the  last  ceutiuy,  Anne 
Steele,  with  a  body  enfeebled  by  affliction,  used  to  regale 
her  tender  and  devout  soul,  and  give  forth  those  utter- 
ances of  hallowed  genius  which  so  refresh  all  childlike 
spirits  who  long  to  sing  of  Him  whom  she  supremely 
loved.  'I  enjoy  a  calm  evening  on  the  terrace  walk,'  said 
that  gentle  voice,  tremulous  with  holy  feeling,  'and  I  wish, 
though  in  vain,  for  numbers  sweet  as  the  lovely  prospect ; 
and  gentle  as  the  vernal  breeze,  to  describe  the  beauties  of 
charming  spring ;  but  the  reflection,  how  soon  these 
blooming  pleasures  will  vanish,  spread  a  melancholy 
gloom,  till  the  mind  rises,  by  a  delightful  transition,  to  the 
celestial  Eden — the  scenes  of  undecaying  pleasure  and  im- 
immutable  perfection.'  She  did  not  wish  for  'sweet  num- 
bers' entirely  in  vain.  Her  songs  never  rose  to  the  higher 
strain  which  some  have  reached ;  but  they  never  became 
xmworthy  of"  her  theme.  They  are  always  read  with  as 
much  pleasure  as  they  are  sung ;  always  simple  in  thought 
and  expression,  alwaj's  full  of  warm  and  tender  feeling,  and 
are  always  welcome  to  the  peaceful  heart  when  it  wants 
a  song  to  express  its  quiet  joys.  It  was  probably  on 
her  favourite  terrace  walk,  or  in  the  avenue  where  the 
zephyrs  whispered  music  among  the  fir-trees,  that  she  first 
sang  her  hymn  '  On  Creation  and  Providence' — 

Lord,  when  my  raptured  thought  surveys 
Creation's  beauties  o'er. 


HYMNS  OF  CREATION.  175 

All  nature  joins  to  teacli  Thy  praise 
And  bid  my  soul  adore. 

Where'er  I  turn  my  gazing  eyes, 

Thy  radiant  footsteps  shine  ; 
Ten  thousand  pleasing  wonders  rise, 

And  speak  their  source  divine. 

The  living  tribes  of  countless  forms, 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  air  ; 
The  meanest  flies,  the  smallest  worms. 

Almighty  power  declare. 

All  rose  to  life  at  Thy  command. 

And  wait  their  daily  food 
From  Thy  paternal,  bounteous  hand, 

Exhaustless  springs  of  good  ! 

The  meads  an-ay'd  in  smiling*  green. 

With  wholesome  herbage  crown' d  ; 
The  fields  with  corn,  a  richer  scene, 

SjDread  thy  full  bounties  round. 

The  fruitful  tree,  the  blooming  flower. 

In  varied  charms  appear  ; 
Their  varied  charms  display  Thy  power, 

Thy  goodness  all  declare. 

The  sun's  productive,  quickening  beams, 

The  growing  verdure  spread  ; 
Refreshing  rains  and  cooling  streams 

His  gentle  influence  aid. 

The  moon  and  stars  his  absent  light 

Supply  with  borrowed  rays. 
And  deck  the  sable  veil  of  night. 

And  speak  their  Maker's  praise. 

Thy  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness,  Lord, 

In  all  Thy  works  appear  ; 
And  oh,  let  man  Thy  praise  record  ; 

Man,  Thy  distinguish' d  care. 

From  Thee  the  breath  of  life  he  di-ew  ; 

That  breath  Thy  power  maintains  ; 
Thv  tender  mercy  ever  new, 

His  brittle  frame  sustains. 

Let  nobler  favours  claim  his  praise 

Of  reason's  light  possess'd ; 
By  revelation's  brighter  rays 

Still  more  di^^nelv  blest. 


176  HYMN-WRITEES  AXD  THEIR  HYHXS. 

Thy  providence,  his  constant  guard 

"Wlien  threatening  -woes  impend, 
Or  will  the  impending  dangers  ward. 

Or  timely  succoiu's  lend. 

On  me  that  providence  has  shone 

With  gentle  smiling  rays  ; 
Oh  let  my  li^js  and  life  make  known 

Thy  goodness  and  Thy  praise. 

All  bounteous  Lord,  Thy  grace  impart ; 

Oh  teach  me  to  improve 
Thy  gifts  with  ever  g-ratefid  heart, 

And  crown  them  with  Thy  love. 

' '  Somebody  inquired  whether  Anue  Steele  was  not  the 
daug'liter  of  a  Dissenting  minister.  'Yes/  was  the  reply, 
'  her  father  preached  to  the  Baptist  congregation  in 
Broughton  for  sixty  years,  and  he  followed  his  uncle  in 
the  same  pastorate,  an  uncle  who  was  equally  remarkable 
with  her  father  for  piety,  amiable  simplicity,  and  indus- 
ti'iovis  attention  to  his  flock.  There  is  a  story  told  of  him 
which  is  rather  instructive.  He  was  so  popular  as  a 
preacher  in  Broughton,  his  native  village,  that  the  parson 
reported  at  the  Episcopal  visitation  that  his  parochial 
province  was  sadly  invaded  by  the  Dissenter.  "How  can 
I  best  oppose  him?"  was  his  query  to  the  Bishop,  the 
celebrated  Grilbert  Burnet.  "Go  home,"  said  the  wise 
Diocesan,  "  and  preach  better  than  Henry  Steele,  and  the 
people  will  retiu-n ;"  a  piece  of  good  advice  that  might 
be  happily  followed  in  all  other  cases  of  parochial  rivalry.' 

"  Anne  Steele's  connexion  with  Dissent  naturally  brought 
up  the  name  of  anotlier  lady  hymnist,  whose  family  rela- 
tions belonged  to  the  same  religious  school.  Anna  Letitia 
Barbauld  issued  her  first  lyrics  during  her  residence  with 
her  father,  Dr.  Aiken,  in  a  Dissenting  academy  at  "War- 
rington ;  continued  her  literary  pursuits  as  the  wife  of 
a  French  Protestant  minister,  who  acted  in  the  double 
capacity  of  tutor  and  Dissenting-  pastor  ;  while  she 
cheered  her  widowhood  with  songs  and  hymns  from 
her  overflowing  heart,  and  prolific  and  cultured  genius. 
Her  memory  is  fresh  in  many  a  family  circle,  in  its 
association  with  the  tales  in  'Evenings  at  Home.'  Her 
verses  still  speak  of  her  extensive  and  varied  reading,  and 
show  that   she  had  vigour   of    intellect    to   balance  her 


HYMNS  OF  CEEATION.  177 

flowing  imagination.  Our  conversation  on  the  hill-side 
about  songs  of  creation  was  closed  with  the  rehearsal  of 
her  charming  hymn,  and  one  of  her  last : — 

Praise  to  God,  immortal  praise, 
For  the  love  that  crowns  our  days  ; 
Bounteous  Source  of  every  joy, 
Let  Thy  praise  our  tongues  employ. 

For  the  blessings  of  the  field, 
Tor  the  stores  the  gardens  yield, 
For  the  vine's  exalted  juice, 
For  the  gen'rous  olive's  use. 

Flocks  that  vrhiten  all  the  plain. 
Yellow  sheaves  of  ripened  grain; 
Clouds  that  drop  their  fattening-  dews, 
Suns  that  temperate  warmth  difi'use. 

All  that  spring,  with  bounteous  hand. 
Scatters  o'er  the  smiling-  land; 
All  that  liberal  autumn  pours 
From  her  rich  o'erflowing  stores. 

These  to  Thee,  my  God,  we  owe. 
Source  whence  all  our  blessings  flow  ; 
And  for  these  my  soul  shall  raise 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise. 

Yet,  shoidd  rising  whiiiwinds  rear 
From  its  stem  the  rip'ning  ear  ; 
Should  the  fig-tree's  blasted  shoot 
Drop  her  green, untimely  fruit; 

Should  the  vine  put  forth  no  more, 
Nor  the  olive  j-icld  her  store ; 
Thoiigh  the  sick'ning  flocks  should  fall, 
And  the  herds  desert  the  stall ; 

Should  Thine  altered  hand  restrain 
The  early  and  the  latter  rain, 
Blast  each  op'ning  bud  of  joy. 
And  the  rising  year  destroy ; 

Yet  to  Thee  my  soul  shall  raise 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise ; 
And  when  every  blessing's  flown, 
Love  Thee  for  Thyself  alone. 

This  agreeable  and  pious  hymnistwas  a  native  of  Kib worth, 
in  Leicestershire,  and  ceased  her  psalmody  on  earth  in 
March,  1825,  aged  fourscore  years  and  two." 

M 


178  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

But  no  chapter  of  talk  about  Hymns  of  Creation  should 
be  ended  without  homage  paid  to  the  memory  of  one 
whose  glorious  hymn  may  always  serve  as  the  closing 
anthem  peal  to  all  such  chapters.  Scotland  has  given  birth 
to  man}'  a  genius,  whose  imfolding  powers  it  has  lacked 
either  skill  or  disposition  to  cherish.  Among  the 'rest 
there  was  one  who  first  saw  the  liglit  at  Ednam,  in  Rox- 
burghshire, on  the  11th  of  September,  1700;  and  there, 
amidst  rich  and  varied  scenery,  in  a  land  of  wild  romance, 
he  gave  the  first  promise  of  poetic  wealth.  But  his 
sensuous  and  indolent,  though  guileless,  generous,  and 
glowing  nature,  must  needs  court  the  congenial  influences 
of  a  more  southern  clime.  Like  many  other  young  northern 
adventurers,  however,  his  native  powers  were  first  piit  forth 
\inder  the  pressure  of  poverty.  His  pure,  fresh,  childlike 
"perfect  love"  of  nature;  his  deep  sympathy  with  all 
visible  created  things;  his  luxurious,  enthusiastic  afi'ec- 
tion  for  all  living  grandeurs,  beauties,  and  harmonies, 
made  their  practice  felt  in  the  world  of  taste,  when, 
in  1730,  his  "all-embracing  genius"  charmed  the 
English  public  with  his  living  pictures  of  "  The 
Seasons."  Thompson,  "the  fine  fat  fellow,"  was  not 
without  his  errors  ;  but  he  was  a  loving  brother,  a  fast 
friend,  a  sharp  and  accurate  observer  of  men  and  things, 
and  gave  hope,  in  his  last  hours,  that  he  "died  in  the  faith." 
Who  can  think  of  him  without  affection  and  gratitude  as 
the  author  of  that  sublime  hymn,  with  which  his  poem  on 
the  Seasons  closes  ?  It  has  been  well  said  of  that  hymn 
"  that  in  it  the  essential  beauty  of  tliis  poem  is  collected  in  a 
cloud  of  fragrance,  and  by  the  breath  of  devotion  directed 
up  to  heaven."  Who  does  not  listen  breathless  to  its 
opening  music  and  its  closing  swell  ? 

Almiglity  Father ! 

The  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  Thee.     Forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  Thy  tenderness  and  love 
Wide  flush  the  fields  ;  the  softening  air  is  balm  ; 
Echo  the  mountains  round ;  the  forest  smiles ; 
And  every  sense  and  every  heart  is  joy. 
Then  comes  Thy  glory  in  the  summer  months. 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent.     Then  Thy  sun 
Shoots  full  perfection  through  the  swelling  year ; 
And  oft  Thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks, 


HYMN'S  OF  CREATION.  179 

And  oft  at  da-\vn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 
By  brooks  and  groves,  in  hoUow  whispering  gales  ; 
Thy  bounty  shines  in  autumn  unconfined, 
And  spreads  a  common  feast  for  aU  that  lives. 
In  winter,  awful  Thou  !  with  clouds  and  storms 
Around  Thee  thrown  !  on  the  whirlwind's  wing 
Riding  sublime,  Thou  bidst  the  world  adore. 
And  tremblest  nature  -ndth  Thy  northern  blast. 

Shoxdd  fate  command  me  to  the  furthest  verge 

Of  the  green  earth,  to  distant  barbarous  climes, 

Rivers  unknown  to  song,  where  first  the  sun 

Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 

Flames  on  th'  Atlantic  isles,  'tis  nought  to  me  ; 

Since  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt. 

In  the  void  waste,  and  in  the  city  full ! 

And  where  He  vital  breathes  there  must  be  joy. 

When  e'en,  at  last,  the  solemn  hour  shall  come, 

And  wing  my  mystic  flight  to  future  worlds, 

I  cheerfid  will  obey  ;  there  with  new  powers, 

With  rising  wonders,  sing.     I  cannot  go 

Where  universal  love  not  sliines  around, 

Sustaining  all  yon  orbs,  and  all  their  suns, 

From  seeming-  evil  still  educing  good. 

And  better  them  again,  and  better  still, 

In  infinite  progression.     But  I  lose 

Myself  in  Him,  in  light  ineffable  ! 

Come,  then,  expressive  silence !  muse  His  praise. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 
HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK. 
"In  God  will  I  praise  His  word ;  in  the  Lord  will  I  praise  His  word." 

England  has  lier  classic  divinity;  a  theological  creation 
affording  everything  to  enlighten  the  minds,  regulate  the 
lives,  and  warm  the  hearts  of  the  most  cultivated  Chris- 
tians, as  long  as  the  English  language  lives.  In  the  midst 
of  this  brilliant  firmament  of  religious  literature,  like  a 
central  and  imperishable  sun,  stands  our  Bible.  This  is 
the  one  Book  of  the  Christian  ;  that  which  affords  enough 
to  form  his  character,  were  all  other  volumes  consumed  with 
the  dust  of  their  authors.  The  great  design  of  this  Book 
is  to  regulate  the  affections  of  man,  and  to  perfect  his 
character  for  an  immortal  state.  But  it  affords  innumer- 
able pleasures  to  the  mind  which  it  sways,  and  allures  the 
soul  toward  religious  maturity  by  gratifying  its  distinctive 
taste.  Do  we  seek  for  beauty  of  composition  ?  In  the 
Bible  we  find  the  most  natural  simplicity  and  force,  the 
most  genuine  strength  and  grandeur.  Do  we  look  for 
poetry  ?  Here  we  may  feast  on  the  amazing  sublimities 
of  Isaiah,  and  read  with  pleasure  the  pastorals  of  Solomon; 
we  are  excited  to  heavenly  feeling  by  the  sound  of  David's 
lyre,  are  sometimes  melted  by  the  pathetic  strains  of 
Jeremiah,  and  at  intervals  overwhelmed  by  the  awful 
grandeurs  of  the  entranced  Ezekiel.  Does  our  taste  lead 
us  to  inquire  for  the  beauties  of  logic  ?  In  the  Bible  we 
have  the  most  delicate  distinctions,  the  most  acute  reason- 
ings, and  the  most  perfect  developments  of  the  human  mind. 
Do  we  wish  to  gratify  our  taste  for  the  science  of  numbers? 
Questions  may  be  drawn  from  this  Book,  the  solution  of 
which  may  deeply  engage  the  most  profound  calculators. 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  181 

Are  we  astronomical  in  our  propensity  ?  Then  we  may 
follow  the  inspired  penman,  and  ride  uj)on  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  fly  above  these  lower  elements,  perform  the  circnit 
of  the  earth,  consider  the  influences  of  the  moon,  mark 
the  Pleiades,  measure  the  bands  of  Orion,  follow  the 
"going  forth"  of  Mazaroth,  or  commune  with  Areturus 
and  his  sons.  Are  we  in  pursuit  of  geographical  know- 
ledge ?  Here  are  notices  interesting,  explanatory,  and 
illustrative.  Are  we  students  in  natural  philosophy  ?  Here 
the  wide  field  of  nature  is  open  to  us;  and  the  philosophical 
writers  of  this  Book  direct  us  to  particulars  and  universals. 
In  the  Bible  the  pious  politician  meets  with  the  great 
principles  of  civil  and  ecclesiastical  polity,  and  here  is  a 
system  of  moral  philosophy  which  far  transcends  all  that  haa 
been  produced  among  men.  Aud  all  these  secondary  lights 
are  so  placed  in  the  sj)here  of  truth,  that  their  beams  unite 
to  glorify  and  render  prominent  the  great  Source  of  all 
good.  Nor  can  we  trace  their  rays  without  being  led  to 
contemplate  the  glorious  character  and  righteous  will  of 
the  Divine  Being.  The  Book  that  thus  gratifies  our  taste 
introduces  the  mind  to  God,  and  assimilates  it  to  His  image 
by  calling  it  to  enjoy  the  writings  of  the  law,  the  oracles 
of  the  prophets,  the  doctrine  of  types,  the  experience  of 
histories,  the  instruction  of  proverbs,  the  beauty  of  pro- 
mises, and  the  music  of  psalms.  There  is  no  book  which 
has  such  power  to  transform  and  perfect  the  character  of 
the  Christian  ;  none  which  holds  in  such  pleasurable  servi- 
tude the  intellect  over  which  it  has  the  entire  sway. 
While  the  mind  has  a  strong  passion  for  books,  and  a 
relish  for  great  variety  prevails,  it  is  difficult  for  the  young 
Christian  to  give  the  Bible  its  j)roper  place,  to  afford  it  its 
proper  share  of  his  time,  attention,  and  heart.  But  to  the 
self-denying  student,  who  devotes  himself  to  revealed 
truth,  that  Book  opens  its  hitherto  veiled  beauties,  and 
fixes  and  absorbs  the  wondering  and  ravished  mind.  Dr. 
Kennicott  was  occupied  for  thirty  years  on  his  edition  of 
the  Hebrew  Bible.  During  that  time  it  was  Mrs.  Kenni- 
cott's  office,  in  their  daily  airings,  to  read  to  him  those 
different  portions  to  which  his  immediate  attention  was 
called.  When  preparing  for  their  ride,  the  day  after  his 
great  work  was  completed,  upon  her  asking  him  what 
book  she  should  now  take,  "  Oh,"  exclaimed  he,  "let  us 


182  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

begin  the  Bible  ag'ain."  So,  then,  the  love  of  the  sacred 
volume  grows  as  our  acquaintance  with  it  deepens  ;  and 
just  as  its  various  riches  and  powers  open  our  hearts,  we 
shall  take  up  the  simple  but  touching  melody  of  Anne 
Steele's  hymn  on  "  the  excellency  of  the  Scriptures,"  and 


Father  of  mercies,  in  Thy  "Word, 

"What  endless  glory  i.>hines  ! 
For  ever  be  Thy  name  adored 

For  these  celestial  lines. 

Here  mines  of  heavenly  wealth  disclose 
Their  bright  unbounded  store  ; 

The  glittering  gem  no  longer  glows, 
And  India  boasts  no  more. 

Here  may  the  wretched  sons  of  want 

Exhaustless  riches  find ; 
Eiches  above  what  earth  can  grant, 

And  lasting  as  the  mind. 

Here  the  fair  tree  of  knowledge  grows. 

And  yields  a  free  repast ; 
Sublimer  sweets  than  nature  knows 

Invite  the  longing  taste. 

Here  may  the  blind  and  hungry  come, 

And  light  and  food  receive  ; 
Here  shall  the  meanest  guest  have  room, 

And  taste,  and  see,  and  live. 

Amidst  these  gloomy  wilds  below, 
"When  dark  and  sad  we  stray  ; 

Here  beams  of  heaven  relieve  our  woe, 
And  guide  to  endless  day. 

Here  springs  of  consolation  rise. 

To  cheer  the  fainting  mind  ; 
And  thirsty  souls  receive  supplies, 

And  sweet  refreshment  find. 

When  guilt  and  terror,  pain  and  grief. 

United  rend  the  heart, 
Here  sinners  meet  divine  relief, 

And  cool  the  raging  smart. 

Here  the  Redeemer's  welcome  voice 
Spreads  heavenly  peace  around ; 

And  life,  and  everlasting  joys. 
Attend  the  blissful  sound. 


HYMNS  ABOTTT  THE  BOOK.  183 

But  when  His  painful  sufferings  rise 

(Delightful,  di-eadful  scene!) 
Angels  may  read  with  wondering  eyes 

That  Jesus  died  for  men. 

Oh,  may  these  heavenly  pages  be 

My  ever  dear  dehght. 
And  still  new  beauties  may  I  see, 

And  still  increasing  light. 

Divine  instructor,  gracious  Lord, 

Be  Thou  for  ever  near  ; 
Teach  me  to  love  Thy  sacred  Word, 

And  view  my  Saviour  there. 

There  is  sometliing,  too,  iu  this  blessed  Book  which  seems 
to  infuse  a  kind  of  immortal  vigour  into  the  wi'itings  of 
those  men  who  have  made  it  their  chief  study.  There  are 
two  authors  whose  writings  breathe  immortality,  whose 
books  will  live,  while  myriads  of  subsequent  productions 
pass  into  oblivion  —  John  Milton  and  John  Bunyan. 
Milton's  masterpiece  is  his  "Paradise  Lost,"  and  though 
every  page  of  that  poem  shows  the  vast  range  of  his  read- 
ing, it  would  seem  that  we  owe  the  life  of  its  best  parts  to 
the  poet's  deep  communion  with  the  Hebrew  Scriptures. 
Some  of  the  most  sublime  passages  of  "Paradise  Lost" 
are  poetic  translations  and  paraphrases  of  Hebrew  words 
and  sentences  used  by  Moses  and  the  prophets ;  in  his  daily 
intercourse  with  whom,  Milton's  soul  gathered  strength 
for  a  flight  through  the  depths  of  chaos,  and  into  the 
regions  of  the  blessed.  And  where  is  the  secret  of  that 
life  which  animates  "  Pilgrim's  Progress"  ?  that  undying 
vigour  and  immortal  beauty  which  enchant  every  successive 
generation  of  readers  ?  Why,  you  have  it  in  the  fact  that 
Bunyan  was  a  man  of  one  Book,  and  that  Book  was  the 
English  Bible.  Bunyan  and  Milton,  both  imperishable 
authors,  gather  their  life,  the  one  from  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures,  and  the  other  from  their  incomparable  English 
version. 

To  the  same  volume  we  may  trace  that  power  which 
formed  those  mature  and  influential  characters  who  have 
left  such  gracious  impressions  on  the  Church  and  the  world — 
Luther,  Calvin,  "Wesley,  and  Whitefield.  One  of  them  has 
opened  his  heart  to  us,  and  has  shown  the  source  of  that 
energy  which  distinguished  his  preaching,  and  which  still 


184  HYMN-WIHTERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

lives  in  the  volumes  wliich.  he  -wrote.  He  says  : — "  To 
candid,  reasonable  men,  I  am  not  afraid  to  lay  open  what 
have  been  the  inmost  thoughts  of  my  heart.  I  have 
thought  I  am  a  creature  of  a  day,  passing  through  life  as 
an  arrow  through  the  air.  I  am  a  spirit  come  from  Grod, 
and  returning  to  God ;  just  hovering  over  the  great  gulf, 
till,  a  few  moments  hence,  I  am  no  more  seen ;  I  drop  into 
an  unchangeable  eternity  !  I  want  to  know  one  thing — the 
way  to  heaven  ;  how  to  land  safe  on  that  happy  shore.  God 
Himself  has  condescended  to  teach  the  way ;  for  this  very 
end  He  came  from  heaven.  He  hath  written  it  down  in  a 
Book.  Oh  give  me  that  Book !  At  any  price,  give  me  the 
Book  of  God !  I  have  it.  Here  is  knowledge  enough  for 
me.  Let  me  be  a  man  of  one  book.  Here  I  am,  far 
from  the  busy  ways  of  men.  I  sit  down  alone ;  only 
God  is  here.  In  His  presence  I  open,  I  read  His  Book  ; 
for  this  end  I  find  the  Avay  to  Heaven.  Is  there  a  doubt 
concerning  the  meaning  of  what  I  read  ?  Does  any- 
thing appear  dark  or  intricate  ?  I  lift  up  my  heart  to 
the  Father  of  lights  : — Lord,  is  it  not  Thy  word,  '  If 
any  man  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God'?  Thoii  '  givest 
liberally  and  upbraidest  not.'  Thou  hast  said,  'If  any 
man  .be  willing  to  do  Thy  will,  he  shall  know.'  I  am 
wilKng  to  do,  let  me  know  Thy  will.  I  then  search  after 
and  consider  parallel  passages  of  Scripture,  'comparing 
spiritual  things  with  spiritual.'  I  meditate  thereon  with 
all  the  attention  and  earnestness  of  which  my  mind  is 
capable.  If  any  doubt  still  remains,  I  consult  those  who 
are  experienced  in  the  things  of  God ;  and  then  the  writings, 
whereby  being  dead,  they  yet  speak.  And  what  I  thus 
learn,  that  I  teach."  Thus  speaks  John  Wesley  in  his 
preface  to  his  sermons  ;  and  the  spirit  of  the  beautiful  and 
striking  passage  has  been  happily  caught  by  his  brother 
Charles,  and  embodied  in  the  forrd  of  a  metrical  paraphrase 
on  Deut.  vi.  6,  7 — "And  these  words,  that  I  command  thee 
this  day,  shall  be  in  thine  heart ;  and  thou  shalt  teach 
them  diligently  unto  thy  children,  and  shalt  talk  of  them 
when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house,  and  when  thou  walkest 
by  the  way,  and  when  thou  liest  down,  and  when  thou 
risest  up." 

The  table  of  my  heart  prepare 

(Such  power  belongs  to  Thee  alone), 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  185 

And  -write,  O  God,  Thy  precepts  there, 

To  show  Thou  still  canst  -«-i-ite  in  stone, 
So  shall  my  pure  obedience  prove 
All  things  are  possible  to  love. 

Father,  instruct  my  docile  heart, 

Apt  to  instruct  I  then  shall  be, 
I  then  shall  all  Thy  words  impart. 

And  teach  (as  taught  myself  by  Thee) 
My  cliildren,  in  their  earliest  days, 
To  know  and  live  the  life  of  grace. 

"When  quiet  in  my  house  I  sit, 

Thy  Book  be  my  companion  still, 
My  joy  Thy  sayings  to  repeat. 

Talk  o"er  the  records  of  Thy  will, 
And  search  the  oracles  divine, 
Till  every  heartfelt  word  is  mine. 

Oh,  might  the  gracious  words  divine 

Subject  of  all  my  converse  be. 
So  wovild  the  Lord  His  follower  join, 

And  walk  and  talk  Himself  with  me  ; 
So  would  my  heart  His  presence  prove, 
And  bum  with  everlasting  love. 

Oft  as  I  lay  me  down  to  rest. 

Oh,  may  the  reconciling  Word 
Sweetly  compose  my  weary  breast. 

While  on  the  bosom  of  my  Lord 
I  sink  in  blissful  dreams  away, 
And  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Rising  to  sing  my  Saviour's  praise, 

Thee  may  I  publish  all  day  long, 
And  let  Thy  precious  word  of  gi-ace 

Flow  from  my  heart  and  fill  my  tongue ; 
Fill  all  my  life  with  purest  love. 
And  join  me  to  Thy  Church  above. 

Tliis  hymn  has  become  a  sort  of  household  joy  to 
thousands  who  'guide  the  daily  devotions  of  their  families  ; 
and  its  music  promises  to  be  happily  familiar  to  a  widening- 
circle  of  devout  Bible  students  whose  homes  are  hallowed 
as  scenes  of  daily  communion  with  inspired  truth.  As  a 
hymnist,however,  Charles  Wesley  was  never  content  merely 
to  record  his  own  or  even  his  brother's  experience  in  tune- 
ful measures.  He  was  not  among  the  lyric  poets  who  find 
full  emplojTuent  for  their  muse  amidst  the  intricacies  and 
subtle  workings  of  their  own  inner  world.     He  had  a  large 


186  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

share  of  tliat  unselfishness  which  so  eminently  distinguished 
his  more  active  brother,  and  longed,  like  an  apostle,  "  to 
sjoend  and  be  spent,"  rather  in  guiding,  blessing,  and  saving 
others  than  in  dwelling  complacently  or  uneasily  upon  the 
throne  of  his  own  spiritual  kingdom.  Or  if,  like  St.  Paul, 
he  sometimes  threw  his  own  experience  into  the  form  of  an 
examjDle,  it  was  only  that  he  might  the  more  effectually 
teach  the  world,  and  assist  the  devotions  of  the  Church. 
Thus,  while  in  one  hymn  he  takes  the  individual  mode  of 
expression,  singing  as  a  person,  that  every  like-minded 
person  may  have  a  song  about  the  Book  ;  in  another  he 
pours  the  desire  of  his  soul  into  a  metrical  prayer  so  adapted 
to  the  many,  that  ministers  and  peoj^le  may  sing  together 
in  "the  great  congregation." 

Inspirer  of  the  ancient  seers, 

Who  -wrote  from  Thee  the  sacred  page, 

The  same  through  all  succeeding  years, 
To  us  in  our  degenerate  age, 

The  spirit  of  Thy  Word  impart, 

And  breathe  the  Kf e  into  our  heart. 

While  now  Thine  oracles  we  read, 

With  earnest  prayer  and  strong  desire, 

0  let  Thy  Spirit  from  Thee  proceed, 
Our  souls  to  awaken  and  inspire  ; 

Our  weakness  help,  our  darkness  chase, 

And  guide  us  by  the  light  of  grace ! 

Whene'er  in  error's  paths  we  rove, 

The  living  God  through  sin  forsake, 
Our  conscience  by  Thy  Word  reprove, 

Convince  and  bring  the  wanderers  back. 
Deep  wounded  by  Thy  Spirit's  sword, 
And  then  by  Gilead's  balm  restored. 

The  sacred  lessons  of  Thy  grace. 

Transmitted  through  Thy  Word,  repeat ; 

And  train  us  up  in  all  Thy  ways, 
To  make  us  in  Thy  will  complete ; 

Fulfil  Thy  love's  redeeming  plan. 

And  bring  us  to  a  perfect  man. 

Fumish'd  out  of  Thy  treasury, 

Oh  may  we  always  ready  stand 
To  help  the  souls  redeemed  by  Thee, 

For  what  their  various  states  demand ; 
To  teach,  convince,  correct,  reprove. 
And  build  them  up  in  holiest  love  ! 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  187 

There  are  but  two  hymns  ''on  the  Scriptures"  in  the 
Olney  collection  ;  and  they  stand  side  by  side,  as  if  to 
remind  us  of  that  bond  of  spiritual  fellowship  which  once 
held  their  authors  heart  to  heart.  In  some  respects  it  was 
a  strange  association,  that  of  Cowper  and  Newton.  The 
one  robust,  trained  to  hardihood  upon  the  high  seas  ;  the 
other  frail,  instinctively  shrinking  from  both  wave  and  wind. 
Unlike  in  birth  and  education,  and,  indeed,  in  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  earlier  course,  yet  one  in  their  love  of 
truth,  and  united  in  their  work  of  giving  new  songs  to  the 
Christian  world.  Many  passages  of  the  blessed  Book, 
Cowper,  in  his  morbid  depression,  would  misinterpret 
against  his  own  soul ;  as  if  he  were  unwilling  that  the  fire 
of  Divine  wrath  should  ever  glance  on  any  but  the  one  on 
whom  they  were  to  be  concentrated — himself.  Whether 
his  friend  Newton's  spiritual  direction  was  the  best  for  him 
has  been  a  question;  but,  however  that  maybe,  there  were 
times  when  his  enjoyment  of  the  Sacred  Yolume  was  equal 
not  only  to  his  own  support,  but  to  the  consolation  of  all 
lovers  of  truth,  who  have  followed  him,  and  have  learnt  his 
bright  and  hopeful  little  hymn,  on  "  The  Light  and  Glory 
ofthe  Word:"— 

The  Spirit  breathes  upon  the  "Word, 

And  brings  the  truth  to  sight ; 
Precepts  and  promises  afford 

A  sanctifying  light. 

A  glory  gilds  the  sacred  page, 

Majestic  like  the  sun ; 
It  gives  a  light  to  ev'ry  age. 

It  gives,  and  borrows  none. 

The  hand  that  gave  it  still  supplies 

The  gracious  Light  and  heat ; 
His  truths  upon  the  nations  rise, 

They  rise  but  never  set. 

Let  everlasting  thanks  be  Thine, 
For  such  a  bright  display, 
,  As  makes  a  world  of  darkness  shine 

With  beams  of  heavenly  day. 

My  soul  rejoices  to  pursue 

The  steps  of  Him  I  love ; 
Till  glory  breaks  upon  my  view 

In  brighter  worlds  above. 


188  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Then  comes  Newton's  happy  song  on  "  The  Word  more 
Precious  than  Grokl."  How  like  a  man  of  his  temper  is 
this  hymn  ?  How  expressive  from  the  lips  of  one  who  had 
passed  through  the  remarkable  experiences  of  his  life. 
How  differently  Cowper  and  he  had  been  dealt  with  by 
Divine  mercy.  But  as  it  was  in  both  cases  the  same  provi- 
dence and  the  same  spirit,  so  they  were  brought  to  the 
same  goal.  Newton  himself  has  put  this  in  his  own  style. 
"Imagine  to  yourself  a  niunber  of  vessels,  at  different 
times,  and  from  different  places,  bound  to  the  same  port, 
there  are  some  things  in  which  all  these  would  agree — the 
compass  steered  by,  the  port  in  view,  the  general  rule  of 
navigation,  both  as  to  the  management  of  the  vessel  and 
determining  their  astronomical  observations,  would  be  the 
same  in  all.  In  other  respects  they  would  differ  ;  perhaps 
no  two  of  them  would  meet  with  the  same  distribution  of 
wind  and  weather.  Some  we  see  set  out  with  a  prosperous 
gale ;  and  when  they  almost  think  their  passage  secured, 
they  are  checked  by  adverse  blasts;  and  after  enduring 
much  hardship  and  danger,  and  frequent  expectations  of 
shipwreck,  they  just  escaj^e,  and  reach  the  desired  haven. 
Others  meet  the  greatest  difficulties  at  first ;  they  put  forth 
in  a  storm,  and  are  often  beaten  back  ;  at  length  their 
voyage  proves  favourable,  and  they  enter  the  port  with  a 
'rich  and  abundant  entrance.'  Some  are  hard  beset  with 
cruisers  and  enemies,  and  obliged  to  fight  their  way 
through  ;  others  meet  with  little  remarkable  in  their  pas- 
sage. Is  it  not  so  in  the  spiritual  Kfe  ?  All  true  believers 
'  walk  by  the  same  rule,'  and  mind  the  same  things;  the 
"Word  of  God  is  their  comj)ass  ;  Jesus  is  their  polar  star. 
....  Yet  their  experience,  formed  upon  these  common 
principles,  is  far  from  being  uniform.  The  Lord,  in  His 
first  call,  and  His  following  dispensations,  has  a  regard  to 
the  situation,  temper,  talents  of  each,  and  to  the  particular 
sorrows  or  trials  He  has  appointed  them  for.  Though  aR 
are  exercised  at  times,  yet  some  pass  through  the  voyage 
of  life  much  more  smoothly  than  others." 

With  all  the  varieties  of  their  personal  histories, 
both  Cowper  and  Newton  had  learnt  to  love  the  Bible  ; 
and  both  hearts  found  an  inexhaustible  treasure  in 
that  "one  Book."  Newton's  mother  had  taught  him  to 
read  the  Bible,  and  to  store  his  memory  with  its  chap- 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  189 

ters,  wlien  he  was  but  four  years  old,  and,  as  lie  says, 
"  though  in  process  of  time  I  sinned  away  all  the  advan- 
tages of  these  early  impressions,  yet  they  were  for  a  great 
while  a  restraint  upon  me  ;  they  returned  again  and  again, 
and  it  was  very  long  before  I  could  wholly  shake  them  oflf ; 
and  when  the  Lord  at  length  opened  my  eyes,  I  found  a 
great  benefit  from  the  recollection  of  them."  In  the  course 
of  his  subsequent  wanderings,  he  picked  up  Shaftsbury's 
"  Chai'acteristics,"  "in  a  petty  shop  at  Middleburg  in 
Holland."  "  The  title,"  says  he,  allured  me  to  buy  it, 
and  the  style  and  manner  gave  me  great  pleasure  in  read- 
ing  Thus  with  fine  words  and  fair*  speeches, 

my  simple  heart  was  beguiled No  immediate 

effect  followed  ;  but  it  ojjerated  like  a  slow  poison."  Evil 
companionship  finished  what  Shaftsbuxy  began, — it  con- 
firmed him  in  blank  infidelity.  But  when,  at  last,  extreme 
suffering  and  danger  brought  him  to  cry  to  God  for  mercy, 
the  sacred  utterances  with  which  his  youthful  mind  had 
been  stored  unfolded  their  meaning  to  his  heart ;  and  that 
Word  which  he  had  taught  himself  to  despise  was  now  his 
best  friend,  the  companion  of  his  leisure  hours,  and  the 
source  of  those  holy  lessons  which,  as  a  preacher,  he  after- 
wards gave  out  to  his  flock,  and  with  which,  as  a  hymnist, 
he  enriched  his  undying  hymns.  Who  can  wonder  that  he 
sang  of  the  Book  thus  ? — 

Precious  Bible !  what  a  treasure 

Does  the  "Word  of  God  afford  ? 
All  I  want  for  life  or  pleasure, 

Food  and  med'cine,  shield  and  sword : 
Let  the  world  account  me  poor, 
Having  this  I  need  no  more. 

Food  to  which  the  world 's  a  stranger, 

Here  my  hungry  soul  enjoys ; 
Of  excess  there  is  no  danger, 

Tho'  it  fills,  it  never  cloys ; 
On  a  dying  Christ  I  feed, 
He  is  meat  and  drink  indeed ! 

"\r\Tien  my  faith  is  faint  and  sickly, 

Or  when  Satan  wounds  my  mind, 
Cordials  to  revive  me  quickly, 

Healing  med'cines  here  I  find  : 
To  the  promises  I  flee, 
Each  affords  a  remedy. 


190  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

In  the  hour  of  dark  temptation 

Satan  cannot  make  me  yield ; 
For  the  word  of  consolation 

Is  to  me  the  mighty  shield  : 
T\^lile  the  Scripture  truths  are  sure, 
From  his  malice  I'm  seciu'e. 

Vain  his  tlrreats  to  overcome  me, 

"When  I  take  the  Spirit's  sword  ; 
Then  "with  ease  I  drive  him  from  me, 

Satan  trembles  at  the  Word : 
'Tis  a  sword  for  conquest  made, 
Keen  the  edge  and  strong  the  blade. 

Shall  I  envy  then  the  miser. 

Doting  on  his  g'olden  store  ? 
Sui'e  I  am  or  should  be  wiser, 

I  am  rich,  'tis  he  is  poor : 
Jesus  gives  me  in  His  "Word, 
Food  and  med'cine,  shield  and  sword. 

Cliarles  Lamb  once  resolved,  if  possible,  to  check  a 
young  friend  wbo  was  rather  too  ready  to  abandon 
himself  to  dependence  on  a  literary  profession,  and  he 
wrote  to  him,  saying,  "  Throw  yourself  on  the  world, 
without  any  rational  plan  of  support  beyond  what  the 
chance  employ  of  booksellers  would  afford  you !  Throw 
yourself  rather,  my  dear  sir,  from  the  steep  Tarpeian 
rock,  slap-dash  headlong  upon  iron  spikes.  If  you  have 
but  five  consolatory  minutes  between  the  desk  and  the  bed^ 
make  much  of  them,  and  live  a  century  in  them,  rather 
than  turn  slave  to  the  booksellers.  They  are  Turks  and 
Tartars  when  they  have  poor  authors  at  their  beck. 
Hitherto  you  have  been  at  arm's  length  from  them — come 
not  within  their  grasp.  I  have  known  many  authors  want 
for  bread — some  repining,  others  enjoying  the  blessed 
security  of  a  counting-house — all  agreeing  they  had  rather 
have  been  tailors,  weavers,  what  not  ?  rather  than  the 
things  they  were.  I  have  known  some  starved,  some  go 
mad,  one  dear  friend  literally  djdug  in  a  workhouse.  Oh, 
you  know  not — may  you  never  know — the  miseries  of 
subsisting  by  authorship  !  "  This  strong  preventive  was 
effectual ;  and  Bernard  Barton  stuck  to  his  banking  estab- 
lishment at  Woodbridge  in  Suffolk.  Lamb  knew  his  man 
and  gave  wise  counsel.  Happy  was  it  for  Barton  that  he 
listened  to  a  true  friend.      His  were  not  the  talents  for  the 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  191 

general  literary  market.  In  1820  he  puLlislied  a  volume 
of  miscellaneovis  poems,  remarkable  for  their  simple 
elegance,  chasteness  of  style,  and  j)urity  of  feeling.  The 
pieces  will  always  be  agreeable  to  those  who  love  quiet 
English  scenery  pictured  with  gentle  feeling  ;  or  meditative 
verses  breathing  tenderness  and  devotion,  alwaj^s  soothing 
and  always  happy.  There  is  little  that  would  strike,  little 
that  would  seem  original ;  yet  Bernard  Barton  is  always 
welcome  to  the  cultivated  taste.  He  was  a  hymnist,  and 
one  hymn  is  about  "  the  Book  "  and  full  of  sweetness. 
With  all  his  distinctive  notions  as  a  Quaker  about  -'in- 
ward light,"  he  had  a  deep  reverence  for  the  written  Word, 
and  a  childlike  trust  in  the  certainty  of  its  gviidance ;  and 
expresses  his  love  for  inspired  truth,  and  his  faith  in  its 
lessons,  in  the  hymn  founded  on  Psalm  cxix.  105 — "  Thy 
word  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet" — 

Lamp  of  our  feet,  whereby  we  trace 

Our  path,  when  wont  to  stray, 
Stream  from  the  foimt  of  heavenly  grace, 

Brook  by  the  traveller's  way. 

Bread  of  onr  souls  whereon  we  feed. 

True  manna  from  on  high  : 
Our  guide  and  chart,  wherein  we  read 

Of  realms  beyond  the  sky : 

Pillar  of  fire  through  watches  dark. 

And  radiant  cloud  by  day ; 
When  waves  would  whelm  our  tossing  bark, 

Oiu'  anchor  and  our  stay : 

Word  of  the  everlasting  God, 

Will  of  His  glorious  Son ; 
Without  thee  how  could  earth  be  trod, 

Or  heaven  itself  be  won  ? 

Lord,  grant  lis  all  aright  to  learn 

The  wisdom  it  imparts  ; 
And  to  its  heavenly  teaching  turn, 

With  simple,  childlike  hearts. 

But  pleasant  as  it  is  to  sing  tliese  later  hymns  about  the 
Book,  the  older  songs  must  not  be  forgotten.  Who  can  for- 
get Gleorge  Herbert's  hymn  on  "the  Holy  (Scriptures"? 
More  antique  it  is,  more  quaint,  less  adapted  to  popular 


1 92  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

music  than  some  others  ;  yet  how  full  of  deep  thought — too 
full,  perhaps,  for  most  thinkers  now-a-days — and  how  richly 
it  is  coloured  by  the  living-  breath  of  insjiired  truth  itself ! 
Nobody  would  expect  anything  but  hymns  and  songs  about 
truth  and  love  from  him.  AVhether  at  home  or  abroad,  in  the 
church  or  in  the  household,  the  author  of  the  "  Country 
Parson"  was  always,  in  appearance,  manner,  and  spirit, 
the  holy  parson.  ' '  He  was, ' '  says  his  venerable  biographer, 
"for  his  person,  of  a  stature  inclining  towards  tallness ; 
his  body  was  very  straight ;  and  so  far  from  being  cum- 
bered with  too  much  flesh,  that  he  was  lean  to  an  extremity. 
His  aspect  was  cheerful,  and  his  si^eech  and  motion  did 
both  declare  him  a  gentleman ;  for  they  were  all  so  meek 
and  obliging,  that  they  purchased  love  and  respect  from  all 
that  knew  him."  He  entered,  in  his  thirty- sixth  year,  on 
his  parsonage  at  Bemerton,  saying,  "I  beseech  God  that 
my  humble  and  charitable  life  may  so  win  upon  others,  as 
to  bring  glory  to  my  Jesus,  whom  I  have  this  day  taken  to 
be  my  Master  and  Governor ;  and  I  am  so  proud  of  His 
service,  that  I  will  always  observe,  and  obey,  and  do  His 
will,  and  always  call  Him  Jesus  my  Master."  And 
Herbert's  life  answered  to  his  prayer.  It  was  "  so  full  of 
charity,  humility,  and  all  Christian  virtues,"  says  a  friend, 
"that  it  deserves  the  eloquence  of  St.  Chrysostom  to  com- 
mend and  declare  it ! — a  life  that,  if  it  were  related  by  a 
pen  like  his,  there  would  then  be  no  need  for  this  age  to 
look  back  into  times  past  for  the  examples  of  primitive 
piety,  for  they  might  be  all  found  in  the  life  of  George 
Herbert."  Alas  !  his  holy  career  was  short,  though  full. 
Dr.  Humphrey  Henchman,  afterwards  Bishop  of  London, 
who  was  present  at  his  ordination  to  the  priesthood,  plain- 
tively says,  "I  laid  my  hand  on  Mr.  Herbert's  head,  and, 
alas !  within  less  than  three  years,  lent  my  shoulder  to 
carry  my  dear  friend  to  his  grave."  But  "  he,  being  dead, 
yet  speaketh ; "  and  speaketh  in  rich,  glowing  praise  of 
the  blessed  Book  from  whose  commands,  doctrines,  and 
promises  he  gathered  the  secret  of  his  holy  character  and 
life. 

Oh  Book !  infinite  sweetness !  let  my  heart 

Suck  every  letter,  and  a  honey  gain, 
Precious  for  any  grief  in  any  part, 

To  clear  the  breast,  to  mollify  all  pain. 


HYMNS  ABOUT  THE  BOOK.  193 

Thou  art  all  health,  health  thriving',  till  it  make 

A  full  eternity  :  thou  art  a  mass 
Of  strange  delights,  where  we  may  wish  and  take. 

Ladies,  look  here ;  this  is  the  thankful  glass. 

That  mends  the  looker's  eyes  :  this  is  the  well 
That  washes  what  it  shows.     Who  can  endear 

Thy  praise  too  much  ?    Thou  art  heaven's  lieger  here. 
Working  against  the  states  of  death  and  hell. 

Thou  art  joy's  handsel :  heaven  lies  flat  in  thee, 
Subject  to  every  mounter's  bended  knee. 

Oh  that  I  knew  how  all  thy  lights  combine, 

And  the  configiirations  of  their  glorj- ! 
Seeing  not  only  how  each  verse  doth  shine, 

But  all  the  constellations  of  the  story. 

This  verse  marks  that,  and  both  do  make  a  motion 

Unto  a  third,  that  ten  leaves  ofl:  doth  lie ; 
Then  as  dispersed  herbs  do  watch  a  potion, 

These  three  make  up  some  Christian's  destiny. 

Such  are  thy  secrets,  which  my  life  makes  good. 
And  comments  on  thee  ;  for  in  everything 

Thy  words  do  find  me  out,  and  parallels  bring, 
And  in  another  make  me  understood. 

Stars  are  poor  books,  and  oftentimes  do  miss  : 
This  Book  of  stars  lights  to  eternal  bliss. 

Would  young  men  improve  their  taste,  their  thinking 
powers,  and,  above  all,  the  tone  of  their  piety?  Let  them 
make  Greorge  Herbert  their  companion  and  study,  until 
they  lose  sight  of  all  in  him  that  at  first  appears  rugged, 
grotesque,  and  quaint  in  their  deep  enjoyment  of  his 
fragrant  thoughts,  poetic  glow,  and  heavenly  feeling  ;  and 
when  they  wish  for  an  occasional  change  to  the  more 
simple  style  of  psalmody,  they  may  turn  to  "Watts' s  hymn 
on  "Instruction  from  Scripture,"  founded  on  parts  of 
Psalm,  cxix. : — 

How  shall  the  young  secure  their  hearts, 

And  guard  their  lives  from  sin  ? 
Thy  Word  the  choicest  rule  imparts, 

To  keep  the  conscience  clean. 

When  once  it  enters  to  the  mind, 

It  spreads  such  light  abroad, 
The  meanest  souls  instruction  find, 

And  raise  their  thoughts  to  God. 


194  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIE  HYMNS. 

'Tis  like  the  sun,  a  heavenly  light, 
That  guides  us  all  the  day ; 

And  through  the  dangers  of  the  night, 
A  lamp  to  lead  our  way. 

The  men  that  keep  Thy  law  with  care, 
And  meditate  Thy  Word, 

Grow  wiser  than  their  teachers  are, 
And  better  know  the  Lord. 

Thy  precepts  make  me  truly  wise  ; 

I  hate  the  sinner's  road  ; 
I  hate  my  own  vain  thoughts  that  rise, 

But  love  Thy  love,  my  God. 

The  starry  heavens  Thy  rule  obey, 
The  earth  maintains  her  place  ; 

And  these  Thy  servants  night  and  day 
Thy  skill  and  power  express. 

But  still  Thy  law  and  gospel,  Lord, 
Have  lessons  more  divine : 

Not  earth  stands  firmer  than  Thy  Word, 
Nor  stars  so  nobly  shine. 

Thy  Word  is  everlasting  truth, 
How  pure  is  ev'ry  page  ; 

That  holy  Book  shall  guide  our  youth. 
And  well  support  our  age. 


CHAPTEE  XIY. 

KTMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH. 

"  How  still  the  morning  oX  the  hallowed  day ! 
Mute  is  the  voice  of  rural  labour, 
While  from  yon  lowly  roof,  whose  curling  smoke 
O'ermounts  the  mist,  is  heard,  at  intervals, 
The  voice  of  psalms,  the  simple  song  of  praise." 

"  How  certainly  the  outside  world  sometimes  answers  to  the 
condition  of  our  inner  life !  The  face  of  creation  seems 
troubled  when  our  souls  are  uneasy.  Signs  of  sorrow 
appear  around  us  when  our  hearts  are  distressed.  All 
music  is  discord  when  we  ourselves  are  out  of  tune ;  and 
all  forms  are  rugged,  all  outlines  harsh,  when  irregulari- 
ties and  unlovely  tempers  are  taking  unholy  shapes  in  our 
own  inward  selves.  But  all  forms  of  creation  become  lines 
of  beauty,  all  shapes  make  themselves  agreeable,  all  sounds 
harmonize,  and  aU  influences  are  calm,  when  our  souls  are 
conformed  to  God's  will,  when  we  enjoy  the  repose  of  a 
spiritual  Sabbath."  These  were  the  thoughts  of  a  pilgrim 
who  had  lived  and  journeyed  till  he  had  seen  all  the  com- 
panions of  his  earlier  course  drop  off  from  the  road,  and 
who  had  learned  to  turn  with  tremulous  delight  towards  any- 
thing in  nature  that  seemed  to  wear  an  expression  of  sym- 
pathy with  him  in  his  loneliness.  Hills,  rocks,  valleys,  and 
waters,  flowers,  and  all  tiny  forms  of  beauty,  he  had  become 
happily  familiar  with ;  and  friendship  with  nature,  in  his 
case,  was  so  akin  to  friendship  with  "the  Grod  of  all  grace," 
that  they  seemed  to  blend  their  influences  for  his  pleasure, 
and  to  act  by  turns  as  a  sort  of  brotherhood  on  his  behalf. 
He  was  sometimes  far  away  from  the  Sabbath  assemblies 
of  God's  people ;  but  everything  in  the  outer  world,  at 


196  HYMK'-WKITEES  AICD  THEIR  HTMXS. 

sucli  times,  tendered  its  sympathies,  and  offered  its  minis- 
trations, and  joined  him  in  the  celebration  of  his  Sunday 
service.  So  it  was,  one  Simday  morning,  as  he  went 
quietly,  but  with  buoyant  footsteps,  over  the  soft,  turfy 
undulations  which,  like  the  waves  of  a  quietly-subsiding 
sea,  sank  from  the  hills  of  the  coast  down  to  the  low  cliff, 
and  formed  the  marshy,  lawn-like  approach  to  a  lone  cot- 
tage which  looked  out  upon  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic. 
Every  step  brought  up  fragrance  from  the  crushed  camo- 
mile or  the  wild  thyme.  No  breeze  disturbed  the  sea. 
There  was  something  solemnly  calm  in  the  very  sunlight. 
"Nature  feels  her  Sabbath,"  said  he  to  himself,  "and  is 
still ;  but  my  undertoned  music  will  only  deepen  her  still- 
ness; "  and  then,  as  he  went,  his  steps  kept  tune  with  his 
low  chant,  as  he  sang  a  charming  hymn,  which  in  that  day 
was  just  beginning  to  float  about  in  a  few  private  circles  of 
religious  life : — 

Hail,  thou  bright  and  sacred  mom, 

Risen  with  gladness  in  thy  beams ! 
Light,  which  not  of  earth  is  born, 

From  thy  dawn  in  glory  streams  : 
Airs  of  heaven  are  breathed  around, 
And  each  place  is  holy  ground. 

Sad  and  weary  were  our  way, 

Fainting  oft  beneath  our  load, 
But  for  thee,  thou  blessed  day, 

Resting-place  on  life's  rough  road  ! 
Here  flow  forth  the  streams  of  grace. 
Strengthened  hence  we  run  the  race. 

Great  Cz-eator,  who  this  day 

From  Thy  perfect  work  didst  rest, 
By  the  sotds  that  own  Thy  sway. 

Hallow' d  be  its  hours,  and  blest ; 
Cares  of  earth  aside  be  thrown. 
This  day  given  to  heaven  alone  ! 

Saviour !  who  tliis  day  didst  break 

The  dark  prison  of  the  tomb ; 
Bid  my  slumbering  soul  awake, 

Shine  through  all  its  sin  and  gloom : 
Let  me,  from  my  bonds  set  free, 
Rise  from  sin,  and  live  to  Thee  ! 

BlesF.ed  Spirit !  Comforter ! 

Sent  this  day  from  Christ  on  high  ; 


HYMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH.  197 

Lord,  on  me  Thy  gifts  confer, 
Cleanse,  illumine,  sanctify: 
All  Thine  influence  shed  abroad. 
Lead  me  to  the  truth  of  God ! 

Soon,  too  soon,  the  sweet  repose 

Of  this  day  of  Grod  will  cease  ; 
Soon  this  glimpse  of  heaven  will  close, 

Vanish  soon  the  hours  of  peace, 
Soon  return  the  toil,  the  strife, 
All  the  weariness  of  life. 

But  the  rest  which  yet  remains 

For  Thy  people.  Lord,  above, 
Knows  nor  change,  nor  fears,  nor  pains, 

Endless  as  their  Saviour's  love  : 
Oh,  may  every  Sabbath  here 
Bring  us  to  that  rest  more  near ! 

The  last  line  still  lingered  on  liis  lips  as  he  entei-ed  the 
cottage. 

"Ah!  you  were  singing,"  said  a  young  woman  who 
was  lying  on  a  conch,  so  placed  that  she  could  look  out 
upon  the  ocean;  "you  were  singing.  Well,  I  do  not 
wonder  at  that,  for  who  could  help  singing  on  a  morning 
like  this  ?  Does  not  all  nature  seem  to  feel  its  Sabbath 
hush  and  its  Sabbath  joy  ?" 

"  That  was  the  very  thought  which  moved  me  to  sing," 
was  the  reply;  "and  I  was  indulging  in  that  sort  of 
inward  murmur  of  which  the  psalmist  speaks  as  of  one  of 
his  devotional  pleasures.  I  was  murmuring  the  praise 
which  seemed  to  rise  with  a  kind  of  naturalness  from  my 
quiet  heart,  and  Mrs.  Lyte's  beautiful  hymn  appeared  to  be 
my  best  form  of  expression." 

"  That  is  rather  remarkable,"  said  the  young  sufferer, 
with  a  smile  that  told  the  whole  story  of  her  long  disci- 
pline of  affliction,  and  the  peaceful  submission  and  patience 
which  she  had  learnt  in  the  process  of  her  trial.  "  Just 
before  you  came  in  I  was  humming  to  myself  that 
sweet  Sabbath  hymn  by  Bishop  Heber.  How  often  some 
of  his  hymns  rise  within  my  soul,  as  if  the  hand  of  my 
Redeemer  had  touched  all  the  musical  chords  within 
me  !  I  sing  them  to  myself,  while  the  sea  is  whispering 
and  roaring  by  turns  on  the  beach  ;  and  then  I  look  on  the 
waters  as  I  lie  here,  and  love  to  think  of  that  cultivated  and 


198  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

gifted  man  crossing  the  deep  under  the  constraining  power 
of  his  Eedeemer's  love,  and  gladly  sacrificing  all  the 
comforts  and  honours  of  his  native  island  for  the  joy  of 
proclaiming  peace  to  the  multitudes  of  India.  I  think 
of  him,  gentleman,  poet,  scholar,  theologian,  as  he  was, 
going  out  to  live  and  die  amidst  the  idolatrous  millions 
of  that  vast  old  country,  that  he  might,  as  he  said,  '  in 
some  degree,  however  small,  be  enabled  to  conduce  to  the 
spiritual  advantage  of  creatures  so  goodly,  so  gentle,  and 
now  so  misled  and  blinded.'  How  I  love  to  foUow  him  in 
his  travels  !  Everything  that  he  describes  lives  before  me. 
How  I  like  to  watch  him  as  the  tear  trembles  in  his 
eye  at  hearing  one  of  his  own  blessed  hymns  sung  far  up 
in  India,  at  Meerut,  and  suug,  as  he  says,  '  better  than  he 
had  ever  heard  it  sung  before.'  Then  to  go  with  him  from 
Delhi  to  Bombay,  from  Bombay  to  Ceylon,  where  he  seems 
to  have  caught  the  inspiration  for  his  missionary  hymn  : — 

What  though  the  spicy  breezes 

Blow  soft  o'er  Ceylon's  isle  ; 
Thoug-h  every  prospect  pleases. 

And  only  man  is  vile  : 
In  vain  with  lavish  kindness 

The  gifts  of  God  are  strown, 
The  heathen  in  his  blindness 

Bows  down  to  wood  and  stone. 

Can  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 

"With  wisdom  from  on  high, 
Can  we  to  men  benighted 

The  lamp  of  life  deny  ? 
Salvation  !  oh,  salvation ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim, 
Till  each  remotest  nation 

Has  learnt  Messiah's  name. 

And  then  to  follow  him  to  the  south,  the  scene  of  his  last 
charge,  and  his  mysterious  call  to  his  reward.  Oh  that 
last  kind,  loving,  truly  Christian  address,  at  Trichinopoly ! 
How  often  I  have  read  it.  '  And  now,'  says  he,  '  dej)art 
in  the  faith  and  favour  of  the  Lord ;  and  if  what  you  have 
learned  and  heard  this  day  has  been  so  far  blessed  as  to 
produce  a  serious  and  lasting  effect  on  you,  let  me  entreat 
you  to  remember  sometimes  in  your  prayers  those 
ministers  of  Christ  who  have  laboured  for  your  instruction, 


HYMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH.  199 

that  we  who  have  preached  to  you  may  not  ourselves  be 
cast  away,  but  that  it  may  be  given  to  us  also  to  walk  in 
this  present  life  according  to  the  words  of  the  gospel  which 
we  have  received  of  the  Lord,  and  to  rejoice  hereafter  with 
you,  the  children  of  our  care,  in  that  land  where  the 
weary  shall  find  repose,  and  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling ;  where  we  shall  behold  God  as  He  is,  and  be 
ourselves  made  like  unto  God  in  innocence,  and  happiness, 
and  immortality.'  Blessed  man !  he  soon  found  his  rest 
after  he  had  uttered  these  words.  How  touching  it  is, 
that  story  of  his  end  !  Alone  in  his  last  moment,  and  his 
happy  spirit  suddenly  departing,  •  and  leaving  his  body  in 
the  waters  of  the  bath  in  which  he  had  sought  refreshment 
after  his  Sabbath  toils.  I  wonder  where  he  wrote  that 
beautiful  Sabbath  hymn.  I  have  often  pictured  him  lying 
yonder,  sick  and  weary,  under  the  pressure  of  a  tropical 
climate,  still  bent  on  his  holy  mission,  but  feeling  the  lack 
of  England's  Sabbath  pleasures,  and  looking  upwards  in 
hope — 

Longing,  gasping  after  home  ; 

and  then  I  seem  to  have  pleasant  sympathy  with  him  ;  and 
his  Lord's-day  song  comes  with  deeper  pathos  and  richer 
music  upon  my  soul  as  I  sing  it : — 

Thousands,  0  Lord  of  Hosts,  to-day, 

Within  Thy  temple  meet ; 
And  tens  of  tliousands  throng  to  pay 

Their  homage  at  Thy  feet. 

They  see  Thy  power  and  glory  there, 

Where  I  have  seen  Thee  too  ; 
They  read,  they  hear,  they  join  in  prayer. 

As  I  was  wont  to  do. 

They  sing  Thy  deeds  as  I  have  sung, 

In  sweet  and  solemn  lays  ; 
Were  I  among  them,  my  glad  tongue 

Might  learn  new  themes  of  praise. 

For  Thou  art  in  the  midst  to  teach, 

While  they  look  uj)  to  Thee  ; 
And  Thou  hast  blessings,  Lord,  for  each. 

And  blessings,  too,  for  me. 

Behold  Thy  prisoner,  loose  my  bands, 

If  'tis  Thy  gracious  will ; 
If  not,  contented  in  Thy  hituds, 

Only  be  with  me  still. 


200  HYMX-VRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

I  may  not  to  Thy  courts  repair, 

Yet  here  Thou  svirely  art ; 
Oh  give  me  here  a  house  of  prayer, 

Here  Sabbath  joys  impart ! 

To  faith  reveal  the  things  unseen, 

To  hope  the  joys  unfold ; 
Let  love,  without  a  veil  between, 

Thy  glory  now  behold." 

The  closing  prayer  of  her  hymn  was  answered.  There 
was  an  ethereal  light  on  her  face  as  from  the  unfolding 
visions  of  faith.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  reflect  the  smile 
of  her  loving  Saviour.  An  air  of  deeper  stillness  pervaded 
the  little  chamber,  and  for  a  time  the  two  r6mained  in 
silence — silence  that  was  full  of  Sabbath  peace  and  joy. 
The  poor  girl  had  been  long  a  sufferer.  A  spinal  affection 
kept  her  to  her  couch ;  but  she  was  contented  and  happy 
in  daily  companionship  with  Jesus.  A  little  table-like 
bracket  had  been  fixed  on  the  wall  by  her  bed-side,  so  that 
she  coTild  at  any  time  take  a  book  from  it,  or  regale  herself 
with  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  with  which  she  was  daily 
supplied.  On  that  Sunday  morning  her  visitor  saw 
Herbert's  poems  near  her;  she  had  been  using  it,  he 
thought,  and  taking  it  up,  he  said,  "  Do  you  like 
Herbert?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  "I  like  him,  for  he  makes  me 
think,  while  I  am  enjoying  the  old-fashion  music  of  his 
verses.  There  is  that  rich  old  hymn  for  'Sunday';  it 
always  sends  my  thoughts  back  to  the  time  when,  in  my 
childhood,  I  used  to  keep  my  eyes  on  the  glorious  old 
painted  window  that  was  over  against  me  in  the  church, 
and,  while  they  were  singing  the  anthem,  used  to  fancy 
that  the  music  and  the  coloured  light  were  like  one  another 
somehow.  I  wish  I  could  sing  that  hymn ;  but  I  am 
never  tired  of  saying  it  over  to  myself.  Eead  it  to  me, 
will  you  ?" 

The  hymn  was  read ;  and  how  fuU  of  thought  and 
Sabbath  feeling  it  is — 

,  0  day  most  calm,  most  bright, 

The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud, 

Th'  indorsement  of  supreme  delight, 

"Writ  by  a  friend,  and  with  His  blood  ; 

The  couch  of  time,  care's  balm  and  bay, 

The  week  were  dark  but  for  thy  light : 
Thy  torch  doth  shew  the  way. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH.  201 

The  other  days  and  thou 
Make  up  one  man,  whose  face  thou  art, 
Knocking  at  heaven  with  thy  brow : 
The  working  days  are  the  back  part ; 
The  burden  of  the  week  lies  there. 
Making  the  whole  to  stoop  and  bow. 

Till  thy  release  appear. 

Man  had  straight  forward  gone 
To  endless  death ;  but  thou  dost  pull 
And  turn  us  round  to  look  on  One 
Whom,  if  we  were  not  very  dull, 
We  could  not  choose  biit  look  on  still : 
Since  there  is  no  place  so  alone 

The  which  He  doth  not  fill. 

Sundays  the  pillars  are 
On  which  heaven's  palace  arched  lies  : 
The  other  days  fill  up  the  spare 
And  hollow  room  with  vanities  ; 
They  are  the  fruitful  beds  and  borders 
In  God's  rich  garden  :  that  is  bare 

Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 

The  Sundays  of  man's  life, 
Threaded  together  on  time's  string, 
Make  bracelets  to  adorn  the  wife 
Of  the  eternal  glorious  King. 
On  Sunday  heaven's  gate  stands  ope  ; 
Blessings  are  plentiful  and  rife. 

More  plentiful  than  hope. 

This  day  my  Saviour  rose. 
And  did  enclose  this  light  for  His  : 
That,  as  each  beast  his  manger  knows, 
Man  might  not  of  his  fodder  miss. 
Christ  has  took  in  this  piece  of  ground, 
And  made  a  garden  there  for  those 

Who  want  herbs  for  their  wound. 

The  rest  of  our  creation 
Our  great  Redeemer  did  remove 
With  the  same  shake,  which  at  His  passion 
Did  th'  earth  and  all  things  with  it  move. 
As  Samson  bore  the  doors  away, 
Christ's  hands,  thoiigh  nailed,  wrought  our  salvation, 

And  did  unhinge  that  day. 

The  brightness  of  that  day 
We  sullied  by  our  foul  offence : 
Wherefore  that  robe  we  cast  away. 
Having  a  new  at  His  expense, 


202  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Whose  drops  of  blood  paid  the  full  price, 
Tha.t  was  requia-ed  to  make  us  gay, 
And  fit  for  paradise. 

Thou  art  a  day  of  mirth  : 
And  where  the  week-day  trails  on  ground, 
Thy  flight  is  higher,  as  thy  birth  : 
Oh  let  me  take  thee  at  the  bound, 
Leaping  with  thee  from  seven  to  seven. 
Till  that  we  both  being  tossed  from  earth, 

Fly  hand  in  hand  to  heaven. 

*' Th-ankyou,"  said  the  smiling  sufferer.  "How  often 
have  I  repeated  that  hymn  to  myself ;  and  then  I  have 
gone  off  into  pleasant  dream-like  thoughts  about  *  Holy 
Greorge  Herbert.'  I  have  pictured  Montgomery  Castle 
where  he  was  born,  and  I  have  imagined  that  birth- day, 
April  3,  1593,  to  be  a  Sunday ;  and  then  I  have  seen  that 
blessed  pious  mother  of  his  watching  her  boy  with  that 
look  of  '  cheerful  gravity  '  which  those  who  knew  her  wit 
and  kindness  and  piety  so  admired;  and  then  I  have 
listened  to  that  evening  music  from  the  pious  boy's  cham- 
ber at  college,  the  music  with  which  he  cheered  himself  and 
guarded  his  own  soul  against  outward  mischiefs.  Then 
comes  up  the  image  of  Jane  Danvers,  who  fell  in  love 
with  liim  before  she  saw  his  face,  and  who  became  his  wife 
three  days  after  their  first  interview ;  and  I  think  of  what 
happy  old  Isaak  Walton  says  about  the  wedded  pair,  '  The 
eternal  lover  of  mankind  made  them  happy  in  each  other's 
mutual  and  equal  affections  and  compliance,  indeed  so 
happy  that  there  never  was  any  opposition  betwixt  them, 
unless  it  were  a  contest  which  should  most  incline  to  a 
compliance  with  the  other's  desires.  And  though  this 
begat,  and  continued  in  them,  such  a  mutual  love,  and 
joy,  and  content,  as  was  no  way  defective ;  yet  this 
mutual  content,  and  love,  and  joy  did  receive  a  daily 
augmentation  by  such  daily  obligingness  to  each  other,  as 
still  added  such  new  influences  to  the  former  fulness  of 
these  divine  souls,  as  was  only  improvable  in  heaven, 
where  they  now  enjoy  it.'  I  think,  too,  of  Bemerton, 
and  long  to  visit  it,  to  see  the  scene  of  that  holy  man's  life 
as  a  parish  priest,  happy  in  his  home  and  happy  amidst 
his  flock,  happy  in  the  church,  and  happy  in  the  homes 
which  he  visited.     I  try  to  picture   him  on  the   ground 


HYMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH.  203 

before  tlie  altar  in  silent  prayer  on  the  day  of  his  entrance 
on  his  charge ;  then  going  with  his  wife  and  household 
twice  a  day  to  prayers  in  the  chiu"ch;  then  practising 
psalmody  with 

The  sound  of  glory  ringing  in  his  ears ; 

then  walking  twice  a  week  into  Salisbury  Cathedral,  where 
he  used,  as  he  said,  '  to  find  heaven  on  earth ; '  and  then  I 
see  him  on  his  last  bed,  worn  to  a  shadow,  but  all  soul  and 
all  heavenly  devotion,  glowing  with  hope  and  love.  And 
oh  !  that  last  Sunday  scene  before  he  fied  to  his  rest !  when 
he  rose  from  his  bed,  seized  his  favourite  instrument,  and 
sang  as  he  played — 

My  God,  my  God, 
My  music  shall  find  Thee, 

And  every  striug 
Shall  have  his  attribute  to  sing  ! 

Finishing  with  part  of  that  very  hymn  for  '  Sunday,'  which 
was  just  now  read ;  thus  at  the  very  last,  as  Walton  says, 
'  singing  on  earth  such  hjTuns  and  anthems  as  the  angels, 
and  he  and  Mr.  Ferrar  are  now  singing  in  heaven.' 
Blessed  to  me  is  the  memory  of  George  Herbert,  were  it 
only  for  that  Sunday  hymn.  How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  here 
so  quiet,  and  so  near  to  Jesus,  listening  to  such  hymns ! 
Do  you  know  any  others?  Please  to  let  me  hear  them. 
These  spiritual  songs  so  refresh  me." 

"Well,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "there  are  Mason's  'Spiri- 
tual Songs  ; '  have  you  any  knowledge  of  them  ?  " 

"No;  who  was  he?  Tell  me  something  about  him; 
and  then  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  some  of  his  songs." 

"  I  will  try  to  meet  your  wishes.  I  am  sure  joxi  would 
like  some  of  his  hymns.  Eichard  Baxter  says  that  Mason 
was  '  the  glory  of  the  Church  of  England  ; '  that  '  the  fi-ame 
of  his  spirit  was  so  heavenly,  his  deportment  so  humble 
and  obliging,  his  discourse  of  spiritual  things,  and  little 
else  could  we  hear  from  him,  so  weighty,  with  such  apt 
words  and  delightful  air,  that  it  charmed  all  that  had  any 
spiritual  relish,  and  was  not  biu'densome  to  others,  as  dis- 
courses of  that  nature  have  been  from  other  ministers.'  " 

"  Mr.  Mason  was  a  minister,  then?  " 

"Yes;  he  was  brought  up  in  Northamptonshire,  and 


204  HYMX-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

l)egan  Ms  ministry  in  tlie  same  county,  as  curate  of 
Isham,  after  he  had  gone  through  his  course  at  Cambridge. 
In  October,  1668,  he  became  vicar  of  Stanton-Bury,  and  in 
January,  1674,  rector  of  Water- Stratford,  in  Buckingham- 
shire, where  he  spent  his  holy  and  useful  life,  and  finished 
his  course  in  the  year  1694.  Like  many  other  good  men, 
he  fell  into  some  rather  wild  notions  in  his  latter  days. 
Among  these  notions  some  would  class  his  persuasion  that 
he  had  seen  the  Lord.  In  that,  however,  he  was  not  more 
peculiar  than  very  many  highly  spiritual  Christians  whose 
faith  sometimes  brightens  into  something  very  like  open 
vision.  He  was  wild  in  his  notions  about  Christ's  per- 
sonal reign  upon  the  earth ;  and,  like  many  others  who 
mistake  fulfilled  for  unfulfilled  prophecy,  he  led  his  neigh- 
bours astray  into  the  fervent  expectation  that  Christ  woidd 
appear  in  His  glory  at  Water- Stratford.  But  his  mistakes 
were  not  inconsistent  with  perfect  love,  and  he  left  the 
scene  of  mortality  and  human  mistakes  exclaiming,  '  I  am 
full  of  the  loving-kindness  of  the  Lord!'  One  who  fol- 
lowed him  in  the  parish  of  Stanton-Bury  says,  'My 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Mason  I  have  esteemed  one  of  the 
greatest  mercies  I  ever  received.  His  afi'ections  were  so 
fervent,  and  his  zeal  so  great,  that  as  they  were  the  com- 
fort, so  they  were  the  admiration  of  those  who  feared  Grod 
and  lived  near  him.'  His  hymns  still  live,  to  testify  to  his 
personal  holiness,  and  to  keep  alive  the  fruits  of  his 
hallowed  genius.  His  songs  seem  to  have  been  relished 
by  Pope,  and  Watts,  and  the  Wesleys,  who  now  and  then 
garnished  their  own  verses  with  choice  bits  from  his 
hymns.  James  Montgomery  was  of  opinion  that  '  his  style 
is  a  middle  tint  between  the  raw  colouring  of  Quarles  and 
the  daylight  clearness  of  Watts,'  that  '  his  talent  is  equally 
poised  between  both,  having  more  vigour,  but  less  versa- 
tility, than  that  of  either  his  forerunner  or  his  successor.' 
That  is  probably  correct.  But  you  would  like  to  hear  some 
of  his  verses.  He  has  two  Sabbath  hymns.  One  of  them 
would  rather  remind  one  of  Herbert's  hymns  about  which  we 
have  talked ;  this  is  it : — 

Blest  day  of  God,  most  calm,  most  briglit, 

The  first  and  best  of  days ; 
The  lab'rer's  rest,  the  saint's  delight, 

A  day  of  mirth  and  praise : 


HYMNS  or  THE  SABBATH.  205 

My  Saviour's  face  did  make  thee  shiiie, 

His  rising  did  thee  raise  : 
This  made  thee  heavenly  and  divine 

Beyond  the  common  days. 

The  first-fruits  do  a  blessing  prove 

To  all  the  sheaves  behind ; 
And  they  that  do  a  Sabbath  love, 

An  happy  week  shall  find  : 
My  Lord  on  thee  His  name  did  fix, 

Which  makes  thee  rich  and  gay  ; 
Amidst  His  g-olden  candlesticks 

My  Saviour  walks  this  day. 

He  walks  in's  robes,  His  face  sliines  bright, 

The  stars  are  in  His  hand ; 
Out  of  His  mouth,  that  place  of  might, 

A  two-edged  sword  doth  stand. 
Graced  with  our  Lord's  apj)earance  thus, 

As  well  as  vath  His  name. 
Thou  may'st  demand  respect  from  us 

Upon  a  double  claim. 

This  day  doth  God  His  vessels  broach, 

His  conduits  run  with  wine  : 
He  that  loves  not  this  day's  approach, 

Scorns  heaven,  and  Saviour's  shine. 
What  slaves  are  those  who  slav'ry  choose, 

And  garlick  for  their  feast. 
Whilst  milk  and  honey  they  refuse, 

And  the  Almighty's  rest  ? 

This  market  day  doth  saints  enrich. 

And  smiles  upon  them  all ; 
It  is  their  Pentecost,  on  which 

The  Holy  Ghost  doth  fall. 
Oh  day  of  wonders !  mercies'  pawn. 

The  weary  soul's  recruit, 
The  Christian's  Goshen,  heaven's  da\vn. 

The  bud  of  endless  fruit. 

Oh  could  I  love  as  I  have  loved 

Thy  watches  heretofore : 
As  England's  glory  thou  hast  proved, 

May'st  thou  be  so  yet  more. 
This  day  I  must  for  God  appear  ; 

For,  Lord,  the  day  is  Thine  : 
Oh,  let  me  spend  it  in  Thy  fear  ! 

Then  shall  the  day  be  mine. 

Throughout  the  day  cease  work  and  play. 

That  I  to  God  may  rest ; 
Now  let  me  talk  with  God,  and  walk 

With  God,  and  I  am  blest." 


206  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

"  Do  yoii  not  think,"  said  the  young  listener,  as  the  pil- 
grim finished,  "do  you  not  think  that  Mason  must  have 
seen  Herbert's  hymns?  He  has  those  happy  expressions 
of  Herbert's  in  his  first  line — 

Most  calm,  most  bright. 

Perhaps  Herbert's  hymn  touched  his  chords  of  psalmody, 
and  gave  him  the  first  note." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  he  has  another  '  song  of  praise  for  the 
Lord's-day,'  which  is  generally  thought  to  be  the  better 
hymn ;  and  it  has  original  power  and  beauty  enough  to 
show  that,  though  he  might  for  once  have  caught  a  key- 
note  from  his  predecessor,  he  had  native  talent  distinctive 
enough  to  mark  him  as  Herbert's  brother  hymnist.  Listen 
to  this : — 

My  Lord,  my  Love  was  crucified, 

He  all  the  pains  did  bear  ; 
But  in  the  sweetness  of  His  rest 

He  makes  His  servants  share. 

How  sweetly  rest  Thy  saints  above, 

Which  in  Thy  bosom  lie  ; 
The  Chxirch  below  doth  rest  in  hope 

Of  that  felicity. 

Thou,  Lord,  who  daily  feed'st  Thy  sheep, 

Mak'st  them  a  weekly  feast : 
Thy  flocks  meet  in  their  several  folds 

Upon  this  day  of  rest. 

Welcome  and  dear  unto  my  soul 

Are  these  sweet  feasts  of  love  ; 
But  what  a  Sabbath  shall  I  keep 

When  I  shall  rest  above. 

I  bless  Thy  wise  and  wondrous  love, 

Which  binds  us  to  be  free ; 
Which  makes  us  leave  our  earthly  snares, 

That  we  may  come  to  Thee. 

I  come,  I  wait,  I  hear,  I  pray  : 

Thy  footsteps,  Lord,  I  trace  : 
I  sing  to  think  this  is  the  way 

Unto  my  Saviour's  face. 

These  are  my  preparation  days : 

And  when  my  soul  is  drest, 
The  Sabbaths  shall  deliver  me, 

To  mine  eternal  rest." 


HTMN^S  OF  THE  SABBATH.  207 

"  Yes,  I  like  that,"  said  tlie  happy-looking  girl, 

"  What  a  Sabbath  shall  I  keep, 
When  I  shall  rest  above  ! 

Some  of  these  old  hymns  have  undying  vigour  and  beauty. 
I  have  sometimes  thought  how  much  I  should  like  to  see 
and  feel  all  the  music  and  Christian  life  of  the  still  older 
Latin  hymns.  I  have  one  here  in  a  translation,  which  I 
am  very  fond  of,  and  I  try  to  sing  it  sometimes  on  a  Sunday 
morning,  realizing,  as  far  as  I  can,  the  thought  that  I  am 
singing  the  very  hymn  which  many,  many  sincere  Clu-istians 
have  sung  on  Sunday  mornings  for  more  than  a  thousand 
years,  it  may  be.     This  is  the  hymn  I  mean  : — 

On  this  first  day,  when  heaven  and  earth 
Rose  at  the  Triune's  word  to  birth  ; 
The  day  when  He,  who  gave  iis  breath. 
Revived  our  souls  and  vanquish' d  death  ; 

Why  close  in  sleep  your  languid  eyes  ? 
Shake  off  dull  slumber,  wake,  arise  ; 
And,  mindful  of  the  prophet's  voice. 
Right  early  in  our  God  rejoice. 

That  He  may  hear  the  ascending  cry ; 
That  He  may  stretch  His  hand  from  high ; 
That  He  may  cleanse  and  make  us  meet 
To  join  Hun  in  that  heavenly  seat : 

That,  while  each  consecrated  hour 
We  praise  and  sing  His  glorious  power, 
The  offerings  of  this  day  of  rest 
May  with  His  choicest  gifts  be  blest. 

Paternal  Glory,  Sire  of  all, 
Thee  with  o'erflowing  hearts  we  call, 
That  we  this  day  may  serve  Thee,  freed 
From  guilty  thought  and  sinful  deed : 

That  no  foul  passion's  lawless  flame 
May  injure  this  corporeal  frame, 
Nor  the  unhallow'd  heart's  desire 
Plunge  us  in  flames  of  fiercer  fire. 

Saviour  of  men,  whose  blood  alone 
Can  for  a  ruin'd  world  atone, 
Cleanse  Thou  our  hearts,  and  upward  lift 
To  share  in  Thy  perennial  gift. 

To  Thee,  most  Holy  Sire  ;  to  Thee, 
Co-equal,  only  Son,  we  flee : 
With  Him,  the  union  to  complete, 
The  Spirit  best,  the  Paraclete." 


208  HYMX- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYilNS. 

"That  hymu  is  very  old,"  said  the  pilgrim.  "It  has 
been  sung  for  ages,  as  you  say,  in  its  original  form  ;  but 
this  is  a  translation  by  Bishop  Mant,  who  was  always 
happier  in  translating  old  hymns,  and  in  emulating  the 
ancients  in  hymns  of  his  own,  than  he  was  in  fencing 
with  the  Methodists  in  his  Bampton  Lectures,  though  his 
lectures  did  more  than  his  hymns,  it  may  be,  in  opening 
his  way  to  a  bishopric.  It  is  always  happier  to  move  one- 
self to  devotion  by  aiding  the  devotions  of  others,  than  to 
be  offering  battle  to  our  neighbours  about  notions  which 
those  neighbours  never  held.  It  is  more  gracious  to  '  ad- 
monish one  another  in  psalms,  and  hj'mns,  and  spiritual 
songs,'  than  to  array  ourselves  against  foes  who  do  not 
exist,  and  to  'fight  as  one  that  beateth  the  air.'  I  say 
again,  Mant  was  happy  as  a  hymnist ;  some  of  his  hymns 
will  long  outlive  his  lectures,  and  one  of  his  best  original 
hymns  is  '  commemorative  of  the  Day  of  Holy  Rest.'  Let 
me  repeat  it — 

Blest  day,  by  G-od  in  mercy  giveu 

To  soothe,  refresh,  and  cheer. 
We  greet  the  blest  of  all  the  seven, 

And  hold  thee  doubly  dear. 

We  prize  thee  as  the  day  of  rest, 

WTiicli  toil  nor  travail  knows ; 
The  Sabbath-day,  when  man  and  beast 

From  week-day  works  repose. 

We  prize  thee  as  the  day  design' d 

From  worldly  studies  freed, 
The  Holy  Day,  to  train  the  mind 

To  holy  thought  and  deed. 

We  prize  thee  as  God's  living  sign 

Join'd  with  His  faithfixl  Word, 
How  man  was  form'd  by  power  Divine, 

By  power  Divine  restored. 

Blest  day,  by  God's  commandment  made 

The  goodliest  of  the  seven, 
Type  of  the  heavenly  rest,  our  aid 

In  journeying  to  heaven : 

May  holy  thoughts  and  holy  rites 

Thy  peaceful  hours  employ, 
Till  we,  through  love  of  such  delights, 

God's  endless  rest  enjoy ! 


HYMNS  OF  THE  SABBATH.  209 

There  hymn,  amid  His  heavenly  host, 

The  praise  on  earth  begun, 
Of  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

The  uncreated  One ! " 

"  Do  you  know  that  liymn,  '  on  the  joys  and  blessings  of 
the  Sabbath,'  which  begins  with — 

Dear  is  the  hallowed  morn  to  me  ?  " 

"  No  ;  whose  is  it  ?" 

"It  is  said  to  be  Allan  Cunningham's,  and  I  like  it 
all  the  better.  I  like  hymns  that  come  gushing  from  the 
heart  of  a  man  of  original  and  uncultured  genius  in  his 
devotional  moments, — they  are  so  fresh ;  and  this  one  of 
Cunningham's  is  like  the  clear,  tuneful  rivulet  of  his  native 
hills,  that  flows  and  sparkles  with  pure,  joyful  life, 

Adown  by  the  greenwood  side. 

The  author  was  a  diligent,  earnest  man,  whose  life,  from 
1784  to  1842,  was  well  filled,  every  nook,  and  corner,  and 
chink  of  it.  His  work  as  the  superintendent  in  Sir  Prancis 
Chantrey's  studio  would  have  been  enough  for  any  ordinary 
man ;  but,  over  and  above  all  that,  he  has  immortalized 
his  name  as  the  biographer  of  eminent  British  painters, 
sculptors,  and  architects,  and  has  adorned  his  own  memory 
with  many  a  beautiful  song.  He  has  helped  us  to  catch  the 
spirit  of  the  old  Covenanters'  love-songs  and  hill-side 
psalmody,  and  one  enjoys  his  effusions  the  more  entirely 
because  he  never  prostituted  his  genius  to  the  claims  of 
vice.  It  cannot  be  said  of  him,  as  it  is  alleged  of  a  more 
popular  Scotch  songster,  that  his  unpublished  songs  have 
left  a  moral  taint  upon  the  social  life  of  the  neighbourhood 
in  which  they  were  circulated  and  sung.  But  let  me  sing 
to  you  his  Sunday  song,  and  then  I  must  say  good-bye. 
Try  to  sing  with  me  : — 

Dear  is  the  hallowed  mom  to  me. 
When  village  bells  awake  the  day  ; 

And,  by  their  sacred  minstrelsy. 
Call  me  from  earthly  cares  away. 

And  dear  to  me  the  winged  hour. 
Spent  in  Thy  holy  courts,  0  Lord  ! 

To  feel  devotion's  soothing  power, 
And  catch  the  manna  of  Thy  "Word. 


210  HYMN-WEITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

And  dear  to  me  the  loud  Amen, 

Which  echoes  throvigh  the  blest  abode  ; 

Which  swells  and  sinks,  and  swells  again, 
Dies  on  the  walls,  but  lives  to  God. 

And  dear  the  rustic  harmony. 

Sung  with  the  pomp  of  village  art ; 

That  holy,  heavenly  melody, 
The  music  of  a  thankful  heart. 

In  secret  I  have  often  prayed, 

And  still  the  anxioiis  tear  would  fall ; 

But,  on  Thy  sacred  altar  laid. 

The  fire  descends,  and  dries  them  all. 

Oft  when  the  world,  with  iron  hands, 
Has  bound  me  in  its  six-days'  chain, 

This  biirsts  them,  like  the  strong  man's  bands 
And  lets  my  spirit  loose  again. 

Then  dear  to  me  the  Sabliath  mom, 

The  village  bells,  the  she^jherd's  voice  ! 

These  oft  have  found  my  heart  forlorn. 
And  always  bid  that  heart  rejoice. 

Go,  man  of  pleasure,  strike  the  lyre. 
Of  broken  Sabbaths  sing  the  charms  ; 

Ours  be  the  prophet's  car  of  fire, 
Which  bears  us  to  a  Father's  arms. 


CHAPTEE  XY. 

HYMNS  BY  TEE  WAY. 

"  Yea,  they  sing  in  the  ways  of  the  Lord." 

Ho"W  often  has  some  sweet  singer  clioered  his  own  way 
through  the  changes  of  life's  journey  with  snatches  of  song ! 
Some  pretty  peep,  some  qniet  nook,  or  happy  turn,  or 
unfolding  prospect,  or  storied  way-mark,  or  remarkable 
adventure,  or  impressive  event,  has  touched  his  soul,  and 
awakened  a  tuneful  tribute  or  suggested  an  immortal  hymn. 
And  in  how  many  cases  such  hymns  have  helped  to  beguile 
the  journey  of  other  travellers,  or  furnished  the  means  of 
lightening  the  steps  of  pilgrims  of  other  days  on  their  daily 
march.  No  hymnist  was  ever  more  open  to  wayside  in- 
spiration than  Charles  Wesley.  His  eye  was  always  open 
to  beauty  and  goodness.  His  ear  was  ever  delicately  alive 
to  kindred  harmonies,  and  his  heart  was  never  out  of  tune, 
never  indisi^osed  to  entertain  the  tuneful  thought  that 
touched  it.  Hymns  came  welling  up  from  his  soul  amidst 
the  changes  and  activities  of  his  evangelizing  course,  and 
the  habit  of  wayside  composition  became  so  fixed,  that  in 
his  last  days,  when  he  had  gone  beyond  his  ''three  score 
years  and  ten,"  and  growing  infirmity  obliged  him  to  per- 
form his  street  journeys  in  London  on  a  little  pony,  he 
always  kept  a  supply  of  small  cards  in  his  pocket,  and  as 
he  jogged  along,  he  might  be  seen  now  and  then  jotting 
down  a  stanza ;  and  then  on  arriving  at  City  Road  House, 
he  was  out  of  the  saddle,  and  might  be  heard  hurriedly 
calling  for  pen  and  ink  that  he  might  fix  the  results  of  his 
street  inspirations.  To  him  the  saddle  was  the  seat  of 
ease  and  quiet,  and  had  peculiar  charms,  as  a  place  of  poetic 
study.      ''Near  Ripley,"  says  he,    with  a  spice  of  that 


212  HYMX-WRITEKS  AJXB  THEIR  HYMXS. 

sportive  humour  which  is  so  often  showing  itself  in  his 
and  in  his  brother's  journals,  "  my  horse  threw  and  fell 
upon  me.  My  companion  thought  I  had  broken  my  neck  ; 
but  my  leg  only  was  bruised,  my  hand  sprained,  and  my 
head  stunned,  which  spoiled  my  making  hymns  till  the 
next  day."  His  journals  afford  many  instructive  illustra- 
tions of  the  manner  in  which  his  hymns  were  brought  out 
of  real  life  and  passing  circumstances.  He  goes  to  the 
Newcastle  colliers  with  his  message  of  salvation,  and  the 
fires  amidst  which  he  found  them  laboiu-ing  awakened 
thoughts  about  divine  flames,  and  brought  from  his  kind- 
ling soul  that  stirring  hymn — 

See  how  great  a  flame  aspires, 

Kindled  by  a  spark  of  grace  ! 
Jesu's  love  the  nations  fires, 

Sets  the  kingdoms  on  a  blaze  ; 
To  bring  fire  on  earth  He  came  ; 

Kindled  in  some  hearts  it  is ; 
Oh  that  all  might  catch  the  flame, 

All  partake  the  glorious  bliss  ! 

Touched,  too,  at  the  sight  of  needy  and  eager  multitudes 
crowding  around  him  to  hear  his  proclamation  of  the 
Sinner's  Friend,  he  utters  his  feelings  in  that  outburst  of 
beautiful  song — 

Who  are  these  that  come  from  far, 

Swifter  than  a  flying  cloud  ? 
Thick  as  flocking  doves  they  are, 

Eager  in  pursuit  of  God : 
Trembling  as  the  storm  draws  nigh, 

Hastening  to  the  place  of  rest. 
See  them  to  the  windows  fly, 

To  the  ark  of  Jesu's  breast ! 

Who  are  these,  but  sinners  poor. 

Conscious  of  their  lost  estate  ; 
Sin-sick  souls  who  for  their  cure 

On  the  good  Physician  wait ; 
Fallen,  who  bewail  their  fall. 

Proffer' d  mercy  who  embrace, 
Listening  to  the  gospel  call 

Longing  to  be  saved  by  grace  ? 

Tor  his  mate  the  turtle  moans, 

For  his  God  the  sinner  sighs  ; 
Hark,  the  music  of  their  groans. 

Humble  groans  that  pierce  the  skies  I 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  218 

Surely  God  their  sorrow  hears, 

Every  accent,  every  look, 
Treasures  up  their  gracious  tears, 

Notes  their  sufferings  in  His  book. 

He  who  hath  their  cure  begxm, 

Will  He  now  despise  their  pain  ? 
Can  He  leave  His  work  undone. 

Bring  them  to  the  birth  in  vain  ? 
No ;  we  all  who  seek  shall  find, 

"We  who  ask  shall  all  receive, 
Be  to  Christ  in  spirit  join'd. 

Free  from  sin  for  ever  live. 

At  another  time  he  is  found  at  Portland.  He  is  on  a 
missionary  tour  ;  like  his  brother  John,  going  first  to  those 
who  wanted  him  most.  The  uncultured  and  uncared  for 
«|uarrymen,  and  their  households,  had  drawn  his  zealous 
steps  towards  their  rude  and  isolated  scenes  of  life.  Those 
to  whom  every  passing  glance  at  St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
yields  fresh  pleasure  would  think  it  worth  while  to  visit 
Portland,  as  the  source  from  which  Wren  drew  his 
materials  for  giving  reality  to  the  conceptions  of  his 
genius.  And  all  who  love  to  listen  to  the  "  testimony  of 
the  rocks"  would  he  drawn  to  Portland  by  the  mysterious 
voices  from  the  buried  forests  of  its  wonderful  "  dirt  bed." 
But  Charles  Wesley,  though  free  from  sympathy  with 
those  who,  like  one  of  his  preaching  followers,  "  never  go 
a  step  out  of  their  way  to  see  a  curiosity  or  a  wonder,"  yet 
kept  his  main  object  before  him — the  salvation  of  his 
perishing  countrymen.  On  June  4th,  1746,  we  find  him 
about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  after  a  wearisome  journey, 
arriving  at  William  Nelson's  quaint-looking  old  stone- 
house  in  the  village  of  Fortune's  Well.  There,  on  the 
following  Friday,  he  sajs,  in  true  Wesley  style,  "I 
preached  to  a  houseful  of  staring,  loving  people,  from 
Jer.  i.  20.  Some  wept,  but  most  looked  quite  unawakened. 
At  noon  and  night  I  preached  on  a  hill  in  the  midst  of  the 
island.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  came  to  hear,  but  few 
as  yet  feel  the  burden  of  sin,  or  the  want  of  a  Saviour." 

"  Sunday,  June  8th After  evening  service  we  had  all 

the  islanders  that  were  able  to  come.  I  asked,  '  Is  it 
nothing  to  you,  all  ye  that  pass  by?'  About  half  a 
dozen  answered,  '  It  is  nothing  to  us,'  by  turning  their 
backs,  but  the  rest  hearkened  wdth  greater  signs  of  emotion 


214  IIYMN-WRITEKS  AND  THElll  HYMNS. 

than  I  had  before  observed.     I  found  faith  that  our  labour 
would  not  be  in  vain. 

"  Monday,  June  9th. — At  Southwell,  the  farthest  village, 
I  expounded  the  Song  of  Simeon.  Some  very  old  men 
attended.  I  distributed  a  few  books  among  them,  rode 
round  the  island,  and  returned  by  noon  to  preach  on  the 
hill,  and  by  night  at  my  lodgings.  Now  the  power  and 
blessing  came.  My  mouth  and  their  hearts  were  opened. 
The  roeks  wure  broken  in  pieces,  and  melted  into  tears  on 
every  side."  And  now  the  inspiration  came  on  the  hymnist 
as  well  as  the  preacher;  and  with  the  sound  of  the  Port- 
land hammers  in  his  ears,  and  the  sight  of  broken  hearts 
before  him,  he  cries — 

Come,  0  Thou  all  victorious  Lord, 

Thy  power  to  us  make  known  ; 
Strike  with  the  hammer  of  Thy  Word, 

And  break  these  hearts  of  stone  ! 

Oh  that  we  all  might  now  begin 

Our  foolishness  to  mourn  ; 
And  turn  at  once  from  every  sin, 

And  to  our  Saviour  turn ! 

Give  us  ourselves  and  Thee  to  know. 

In  this  our  gracious  day ; 
Repentance  unto  life  bestow, 

And  take  our  sins  away. 

Conclude  us  first  in  unbelief, 

And  freely  then  release ; 
Fill  every  soul  with  sacred  grief, 

And  then  with  sacred  peace. 

Impoverish,  Lord,  and  then  relieve, 

And  then  enrich  the  poor ; 
The  knowledge  of  our  sickness  give ; 

The  knowledge  of  oui-  cure. 

That  blessed  sense  of  guilt  impart, 

And  then  remove  the  load  ; 
Trouble,  and  wash  the  troubled  heart 

In  the  atoning  blood. 

Our  desperate  state  through  sin  declare, 

And  speak  our  sins  forgiven  ; 
By  perfect  holiness  prepare, 

And  take  us  up  to  heaven. 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  215 

The  poetic  pilgrim  finds  his  way,  by  and  by,  into  Corn- 
wall, still  in  search  of  those  who  were  most  in  want  of 
truth;  and  here  he  finds  himself  in  scenes  and  circum- 
stances equally,  and  even  more  exciting,  than  all  he  had 
witnessed  at  Portland  or  in  Newcastle.  He  found  poets  in 
Cornwall  who  could  lustily  sing  their  own  verses,  and  sere- 
nade him  under  his  window  with 

Charles  Wesley  is  come  to  town, 
To  try  to  pull  the  churches  down  ! 

This,  however,  was  a  mistaken  fancy  on  the  part  of  the 
gifted  mob  ;  he  was  come  not  to  pull  down,  but  to  gather 
and  to  build.  Nor  was  he  without  success,  as  his  journal 
testifies.  A  modern  Eomish  tourist,  who  has  gone  over 
the  line  of  Wesley's  journey,  says  that  "  a  curious  spot  in 
the  parish  of  Gwennap  may  deserve  a  visit.  An  antiquary, 
stumbling  upon  it  by  chance,  would  be  apt  to  fancy  that  he 
had  lighted  upon  a  Eoman  circus  in  a  wonderful  state  of 
preservation.  It  is,  however,  a  pit — so  called — of  modern 
formation,  with  circular  seats  ofturf  rising  one  above  the 
other,  precisely  after  the  fashion  of  ancient  amphitheatres, 
from  the  area  of  which  the  great  apostle  of  Methodism 
used  to  preach  to  assembled  thousands."  Here  Charles, 
as  well  as  John,  Wesley  seems  to  have  had  the  joy  of 
seeing  the  fields  "  white  unto  the  harvest."  "  On  Sunday, 
August  10th,  1746,"  he  tells  us,  "  at  Grwennap,  nine  or  ten 
thousand,  by  computation,  listened  with  all  eagerness, 
while  I  commended  them  to  God,  and  to  the  Word  of  His 
grace.  For  near  two  hours  I  was  enabled  to  preach  repent- 
ance towards  God,  and  faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  I  broke  out 
again  and  again  in  prayer  and  exhortation.  I  believed 
not  one  word  would  return  empty.  Seventy  years'  suffer- 
ings were  overpaid  by  one  such  opportunity 

Never  had  we  so  large  an  efi'usion  of  the  Spirit  as  in  the 

society I  expressed  the  gratitude  of  my  heart 

in  the  following  thanksgiving  : — 

All  thanks  be  to  God, 

"Who  scatters  abroad, 

Throughout  every  place, 
By  the  least  of  His  servants,  His  savour-  of  grace. 

Who  the  victory  gave, 

The  praise  let  Him  have. 

For  the  work  He  hath  done : 
All  honour  and  glory  to  Jesus  alone. 


216  HTMN-WRITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Our  conquering  Lord 

Hath  prospered  His  Word, 

Hath  made  it  prevail, 
And  mightily  shaken  the  kingdom  of  heU.  ' 

His  arm  He  hath  bared, 

And  a  people  prepared 

His  glory  to  show, 
And  witness  the  power  of  His  passion  below. 

He  hath  opened  a  door 

To  the  penitent  poor, 

And  rescued  from  sin. 
And  admitted  the  harlots  and  publicans  in. 

They  have  heard  the  glad  sound, 

They  have  liberty  found 

Through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb, 
And  plentiful  pardon  in  Jesus'  name. 

And  shall  we  not  sing 

Our  Saviour  and  King  ? 

Thy  witnesses,  we 
With  rapture  ascribe  our  salvation  to  Thee  I 

Thou,  Jesus,  hast  bless'd. 

And  believers  increased. 

Who  thankfully  own 
We  are  freely  forgiven  through  mercy  alone. 

His  Spirit  revives 

His  work  in  our  lives, 

His  wonders  of  grace, 
So  mightily  wrought  in  the  primitive  days. 

Oh  that  all  men  might  know 

His  token  below. 

Our  Saviour  confess, 
And  embrace  the  glad  tidings  of  pardon  and  peace  ! 

Then  Saviour  of  all. 

Effectually  call 

The  sinners  that  stray  ; 
And,  oh,  let  a  nation  be  born  in  a  day! 

Thy  sign  let  them  see, 

And  flow  unto  Thee, 

For  the  oil  and  the  wine, 
For  the  blissful  assurance  of  favour  Divine. 

Our  heathenish  land, 

Beneath  Thy  command. 

In  mercy  receive  ; 
And  make  us  a  pattern  to  all  that  believe  : 

Then,  then  let  it  spread, 

Thy  knowledge  and  dread, 

Till  the  earth  is  o'erflow'd. 
And  the  universe  filled  with  the  glory  of  God." 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  217 

He  who  could  be  thus  jubilant  over  the  work  of  the  blessed 
Spirit  upon  the  souls  of  sinful  multitudes,  was  not,  like 
some  spiritual  zealots,  blind  and  heartless  towards  the 
beauties  and  grandeurs  of  the  natural  world.  He  must 
needs  enjoy  a  visit  to  the  "  Land's  End."  And  who  would 
not  ?  "  Such  a  panorama  of  lonely  grandeur  as  the  Land's 
End  affords  to  one  fond  of  contemplating  nature  under  her 
most  sublime  aspects,  will  not  be  readily  forgotten,"  says 
a  tasteful  stranger,  who  once  saw  it ;  "  a  gentle  green  slope 
conducts  the  traveller  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  so  designated. 
Here  the  scenery  is  at  once  of  a  sublime  and  awful  charac- 
ter. Erom  the  rocks  that  guard  the  extremity  of  the 
promontory,  he  looks  down  perpendicularly  upon  a  raging 
sea,  the  Atlantic  Ocean  bringing  the  full  force  of  its  mighty 
waves  to  bear  against  the  iron-bound  basement  of  the 
coast.  All  around  are  vast  gigantic  masses  of  granite,  in 
every  variety  of  grotesque  form  and  situation ;  some  hang- 
ing overhead,  and  seeming  about  to  topple  from  their  frail 
fastenings,  and  overwhelm  the  pigmy  lords  of  creation 
in  their  fall.  It  would  be  difficult  amidst  this  grand 
scenery  not  to  recognise  the  striking  handiwork  of  Divine 
foresight  in  the  barrier  which  the  wonderful  cliffs  of  this 
tremendous  coast  oppose  to  the  billows  of  the  wide  ocean, 
which  perpetually  thunder  against  their  shores."  Amidst 
these  grandeurs  Charles  Wesley  once  stood ;  and  there,  it 
is  said,  feeling  himself  tremulous  between  the  mysterious 
past  and  the  boimdless  future,  he  gave  utterance  to  the 
hymn  which  always  impresses  one  with  a  sense  of  solemn 
awfulness — 

Thou  God  of  glorioii8  majesty, 
To  Thee,  against  myself,  to  Thee, 

A  worm  of  earth  I  cry  ; 
A  half-awakened  child  of  man ; 
An  heir  of  endless  bliss  or  pain  ; 

A  sinner  born  to  die  ! 

Lo,  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land, 
'Twixt  two  unbounded  seas  I  stand, 

Secure,  insensible; 
A  point  of  time,  a  moment's  space, 
Removes  me  to  that  heavenly  place, 

Or  shuts  me  up  in  hell. 

The  conception  of  this  hymn  rising  from  such  a  scene  is 


218  IIYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIB  HYJINS. 

confessedly  very  fine  ;  nor,  perhaps,  is  the  full  sublimity  of 
the  hymn  itself  felt  until  one  tries  to  sing  it  on  that  "  awful 
neck  of  land."  The  tradition  may  be  cherished.  But 
Wesley  himself  says,  "Tuesday,  July,  29,  1753. — We  rode 
to  Zunning,  and  took  up  our  lodgings  at  a  hospitable 
farmer's.  I  walked  with  our  brother  Shepherd  to  the 
Land's  End,  and  sang  on  the  extremest  point  of  the 
rocks — 

Come,  Divine  Immanuel,  come. 
Take  possession  of  Thy  home  ; 
Now  Thy  mercy's  mngs  expand, 
Stretch  throughout  the  happy  land. 

Carry  on  Thy  victory, 
Spread  Thy  rule  from  sea  to  sea  ; 
Re-convert  the  ransomed  race  ; 
Save  us,  save  us.  Lord,  by  grace. 

Take  the  purchase  of  Thy  blood, 
Bring  us  to  a  pardoning  God; 
Give  us  eyes  to  see  our  day, 
Hearts  the  glorious  truth  t'  obey. 

Ears  to  hear  the  gospel  sound, 
Grace  doth  more  than  sin  abound  ; 
God  appeased,  and  man  forgiven, 
Peace  on  earth  and  joy  in  heaven. 

Oh  that  every  soul  might  be 
Suddenly  subdued  to  Thee  ! 
Oh  that  all  in  Thee  might  know- 
Everlasting  life  below ! 

Now  Thy  mercy's  wings  expand, 
Stretch  throughout  the  happy  land, 
Take  possession  of  Thy  home, 
Come,  Divine  Immanuel,  come." 

His  thought  seems  to  have  turned  on  Isaiah's  expression 
(chap.  viii.  8),  "And  the  stretching  out  of  his  wings  shall 
fill  the  breadth  of  thy  land,  0  Immanuel."  At  all  events 
his  heart  was  set  upon  his  Saviour's  glory,  and  his  hopes 
upon  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise,  "  He  shall  have 
dominion  also  from  sea  to  sea."  Everything  he  met  with  on 
his  way  must  be  turned  to  account  in  the  pursuit  of  his  great 
object.  He  could  make  the  sublimities  and  beauties  of 
nature  pay  tribute  to  his  Divine  Master ;  but  he  had  tact 
and  genius  enough  to  turn  the  freaks  and  follies  of  men 
also  into  means  of  blessing  and  praise. 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  219 

"  Come  here,"  said  an  old  Cornishmau,  as  he  took  the 
arm  of  a  visitor  in  one  of  our  south-western  seaports, 
"  come  here  and  look  at  this  house.  This  is  the  house  in 
which  I  was  born  and  reared  ;  and  here,"  he  continued, 
leading  his  companion  up  a  narrow  passage,  to  an  old- 
fashioned  heavy  door,  with  a  ponderous  iron  knocker, 
"  look  at  these  pits  and  dents  in  the  door,  these  were  made 
once  by  the  mob  as  they  were  trying  to  break  in  upon  Mr. 
Wesley,  who  had  taken  refuge  there.  My  father  used  to 
tell  me  the  story,  and  put  me  to  feel  the  marks  in  the  door. 
Well,  the  people  kept  beating  the  door  until  they  burst  it 
open,  and  rushing  in,  they  found  that  the  clear  Httle  man 
was  in  a  small  room  divided  from  the  hall  by  a  wooden 
partition.  They  were  trying  to  force  the  door  of  the 
parlour,  when  up  came  some  sailors  from  a  ship-of-war  ; 
and  as  Jack  is  always  ready  for  sport  or  mischief,  they 
forced  their  way  in,  crying,  '  Avast,  boys  ! '  and  putting 
their  shoulders  to  the  door,  in  it  went,  and  in  they  leaped. 
There  was  Mr.  Wesley  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
calmly  waiting  the  result.  When  the  sailors  got  in,  he 
quietly  looked  at  them,  and  said,  '  AVho  wants  me  ?'  They, 
quite  as  ready  now  to  befriend  the  persecuted  as  they  had 
been  ignorantly  to  aid  the  persecutors,  surrounded  the 
Methodist,  and  violently  clearing  the  way,  and  defying 
any  one  to  touch  him,  they  led  him  out  in  triumph,  and 
conducted  him  to  a  boat  as  the  safest  mode  of  conveyance 
from  the  town." 

"Well  done.  Jack  Tars!"  said  the  old  Cornishman's 
companion;  "  well  done !  But  I  have  a  story  about  an 
adventure  of  Charles  Wesley  and  some  sailors,  somewhere 
in  these  parts,  I  believe." 

"  Oh  yes,  "  was  the  reply  ;  "  my  father  knew  all  about 
that,  too.  Mr.  C.  Wesley  had  just  begun  a  hymn  in  the 
open  air,  intending  to  preach  to  the  gathering  crowd, 
when  some  jolly  fellows,  '  half  seas  over,'  as  they  say, 
came  and  struck  up  a  favourite  song.  Between  the  hymn 
and  their  song  it  was  but  sorry  music  ;  but  the  preacher's 
ear  was  quick  enough  to  catch  the  metre  of  their  song, 
and  to  master  their  tune  there  and  then.  He  challenged 
them  to  come  again  by  and  by,  when  he  would  be  there, 
and  sing  a  song  to  their  tune.  They  came,  and  he  gave 
out  a  new  hymn  made  for  the  occasion ;  the  new  tune  was 


220  HYMX-VRITEES  AND  TnEIR  HYMX?. 

started,  and  the  merry  tars  very  soon  found  themselves 
beaten,  and  giving  up  the  contest,  seemed  to  enjoy  the  hymn 
more  than  their  old  song.     The  hymn  was  this  : — 

Listed  into  tlie  cause  of  sin. 

Why  should  a  good  be  evil  ? 
Music,  alas  !  too  long  has  been 

Prest  to  obey  the  devil. 
Drunken,  or  lewd,  or  light  the  lay, 

Flowed  to  the  soul's  undoing  ; 
Widened  and  strewed  with  flowers  the  w:iy 

Down  to  eternal  ruin. 

Who  on  the  part  of  God  will  rise, 

Innocent  sound  recover ; 
Fly  on  the  prey  and  take  the  prize, 

Plunder  the  carnal  lover ; 
Strip  him  of  every  moving  strain, 

Every  melting  measure  ; 
Music  in  virtue's  cause  retain, 

Rescue  the  holy  pleasure  ? 

Come,  let  us  try  if  Jesu's  love 

Will  not  as  well  inspire  us  ; 
This  is  the  theme  of  those  above, 

This  upon  earth  shall  fire  us. 
Say,  if  your  hearts  are  timed  to  sing, 

Is  there  a  subject  greater? 
Harmony  all  its  strains  may  bring, 

Jesu's  name  is  sweeter. 

Jesus  the  soul  of  music  is, 

His  is  the  noblest  passion ; 
Jesu's  name  is  joy  and  peace, 

Happiness  and  salvation. 
Jesu's  name  the  dead  can  raise, 

Show  us  our  sins  forgiven, 
Fill  us  with  all  the  light  of  grace, 

Carry  us  up  to  heaven. 

Who  hath  a  right  like  us  to  sing — 

Us  whom  His  mercy  raises  ? 
Merry  our  hearts,  for  Christ  is  King, 

Cheerful  are  all  our  faces. 
Who  of  His  love  doth  once  partake, 

He  evermore  rejoices  ; 
Melody  in  our  hearts  we  make, 

Melody  with  our  voices. 

He  that  a  sprinkled  conscience  hath. 

He  that  in  God  is  merry ; 
Let  him  sing  Psalms,  the  Spirit  saith, 

Joyful  and  never  weary. 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  221 

Offer  the  sacrifice  of  praise, 

Hearty  and  never  ceasing ; 
Spiritual  songs  and  anthems  raise, 

Honour,  and  thanks,  and  blessing, 

Then  let  us  in  His  praises  join, 

Triumph  in  His  salvation  ; 
Glory  ascribe  to  love  Divine, 

Worship  and  adoration. 
Heaven  already  is  begun, 

Opened  in  each  behever  ; 
Only  believe,  and  still  go  on. 

Heaven  is  ours  for  ever !  , 

"  That's  the  hymn,"  said  the  old  Cornishman,  "  and  the 
tune  was  '  Nancy  Dawson ; '  and  a  cheeiy  thing  it  was  to 
hear  my  father  sing  it,  just  as  the  old  folks,  he  said,  used 
to  sing  it.  Yes,  and  I  used  to  sing  it  with  him,  and  love 
to  sing  it  now,  though  he  is  gone,  and  my  voice  is  not 
what  it  used  to  be.  He  and  I  shall  join  again,  by  and  by, 
and  then  we  shall  sing  as  we  never  could  sing  in  this 
world — 

Heaven  is  ours  for  ever !  " 

It  has  occurred  to  some,  that  one  of  Charles  Wesley's 
most  glorious  hymns  may  have  sprung  into  life  under  the 
influence  of  circumstances  distinctive  of  some  remarkable 
point  on  his  personal  way  through  life.  That  being  sup- 
posed, the  hymn  may  be  classed  with  hymns  by  the  way. 
The  hymn  in  question  is  the  one  of  which  Watts,  with 
great  nobility  of  spirit,  said,  "  That  single  poem,  '  Wrest- 
ling Jacob,'  is  worth  all  the  verses  which  I  have  ever 
written." 

"I  used  often  to  read  that  hymn  to  my  family,"  said  a 
man  whose  face  showed  deep  lines  of  sorrow  overlying  a 
calm  expression  of  peacefulness,  "  and  often  have  I  called 
their  attention  to  its  wonderfiil  combination  of  majesty  and 
tenderness,  beauty  and  power,  rich  music,  deep  feeling, 
grajDhic  life,  and  lofty  devotion.  But  when  I  used  to  read 
it  to  myself,  I  felt  as  if  there  were  something  in  it  as  an 
expression  of  Christian  experience  which  I  could  not  make 
my  own.  Not  that  I  ever  adopted  the  opinion  of  a  critic 
who  thinks  that  it  is  a  fault  in  a  hymn  to  be  'in  a  too 
elevated  strain  of  Christian  experience  ; '  no,  Christians 
are  prone  enough  to  grovel.  They  often  need  elevated 
strains  to  keep  them  to  the  height  of  their  calling.     But  I 


222  HYMX- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

seemed  to  lack  the  power  of  singing  that  hymn  with  a  full 
relish  of  its  meaning  and  spirit.  Were  any  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances needed  to  put  me  in  a  condition  to  adoj)t  it  as 
the  felt  utterance  of  my  own  heart  ?  I  prayed  that  I 
might  understand  its  full  power.  Little,  however,  did  I 
think  that  my  prayer  would  be  answered  as  it  was.  I  was 
called  to  a  journey  with  my  household.  On  the  way  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  arrested  us.  The  shadow  of  that  hand 
grew  dark,  and  yet  darker.  One  child  I  watched  as  he 
passed  from  among  us.  Another  was  soon  gone  ;  and  yet 
another.  Then,  last  of  all,  the  mother,  the  wife  of  my 
youth,  and  the  light  of  my  home  !  I  was  left  alone  in  deso- 
lation !  What  a  night  was  that !  I  wandered  out  into  the 
darkness,  and,  friendless  in  my  woe,  paced  the  margin  of 
a  stream.  I  thought  of  Jacob,  alone  with  God.  Verilj'  I 
had  seen  all  that  was  dear  to  me  on  earth  pass  over  the 
brook  before  me.  Was  I  kept  behind  to  meet  with  Jacob's 
Grod?  I  raised  my  eyes  upward  in  silent  prayer,  and  then 
it  seemed  as  if  my  soul  were  seized  with  the  spirit  of 
agonizing  prayer.  A  sense  of  the  Divine  power  was  uj)on 
me  ;  and  as  I  tried  to  fasten  my  soul  u.pon  the  truth  and 
love  of  Grod,  now  my  only  helper,  it  appeared  as  if  some 
holy  prompter  were  rehearsing  my  favourite  hymn  within 
me.  My  spirit  seemed  to  pass  through  all  the  deep  pro- 
cesses which  that  hymn  records  ;  and  now  it  came  gushing 
from  an  understanding  heart : — 

Come,  0  Thoii  Traveller  unknown, 

Whom  still  I  hold,  but  cannot  see, 
My  company  before  is  gone, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  Thee  ; 
With  Thee  all  night  I  mean  to  stay. 
And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 

I  need  not  tell  Thee  who  I  am, 

My  misery  or  sin  declare  ; 
Thyself  hast  called  me  by  my  name  ; 

Look  on  Thy  hands,  and  read  it  there  ! 
But  who,  I  ask  Thee,  who  art  Thou  ? 
Tell  me  Thy  name,  and  tell  me  now. 

In  vain  Thou  strugglest  to  get  free, 

I  never  will  unloose  my  hold ; 
Art  Thou  the  Man  that  died  for  me  ? 

The  secret  of  Thy  love  unfold. 
Wrestling  I  will  not  let  Thee  go. 
Till  I  Thy  name,  Thy  nature  know. 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  223 

Wilt  Thou  not  yet  to  me  reveal 

Thy  new,  nnntterable  name  H 
Tell  me.  I  still  beseech  Thee,  tell : 

To  know  it  now  resolved  I  am  : 
Wrestling  I  will  not  let  Thee  go, 
Till  I  Thy  name,  Thy  nature  know. 

'Tis  all  in  vain  to  hold  Thy  tongue, 

Or  touch  the  hollow  of  my  thigh ; 
Though  every  sinew  be  unstrvuig, 

Out  of  my  arms  Thou  shalt  not  fly  : 
Wrestling  I  will  not  let  Thee  go, 
Till  I  Thy  name,  Thy  nature  know. 

What  though  my  shrinking  flesh  complain, 

And  ntiurmur  to  contend  so  long  ? 
I  rise  superior  to  my  pain  ; 

When  I  am  weak  then  I  am  strong  : 
And  when  my  all  of  strength  shall  fail, 
I  shall  with  the  God-Man  prevail. 

My  strength  is  gone  ;  my  natiire  dies  ; 

I  sink  iDeneath  Thy  weighty  hand, 
Faint  to  revive,  and  faU  to  rise  ; 

I  fall,  and  yet  by  faith  I  stand  : 
I  stand,  and  will  not  let  Thee  go, 
Till  I  Thy  name.  Thy  nature  know. 

Yield  to  me  now,  for  I  am  weak, 

But  confident  in  self-despair ; 
Sjjeak  to  my  heart,  in  blessings  speak, 

Be  conquer' d  by  my  instant  prayer  ; 
SjDeak,  or  Thou  never  hence  shalt  move, 
And  teU  me  if  Thy  name  is  Love  ? 

'Tis  Love  !  'tis  Love!  Thou  diedst  for  me  ! 

I  hear  Thy  whisper  in  my  heart ! 
The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee  ; 

Pure  universal  Love  Thou  art ! 
To  me,  to  all  Thy  bowels  move ; 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love ! 

My  prayer  hath  power  with  God  ;  the  grace 

Unspeakable  I  now  receive  ; 
Through  faith  I  see  Thee  face  to  face, 

I  see  Thee  face  to  face,  and  live  : 
In  vain  I  have  not  wept  and  strove  ; 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 
I  know  Thee,  Saviour,  who  Thou  art : 

Jesus,  the  feeble  sinner's  Friend! 
Nor  wilt  Thou  with  the  night  depart, 

But  stay,  and  love  me  to  the  end  I 
Thy  mercies  never  shall  remove, 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 


224  IIYMN-WRITEIIS  ASSD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  Siin  of  Righteousness  on  me 

Hath  rose  Avith  healing  in  His  wings  ; 
Wither" d  my  nature's  strength,  from  Thee 

My  soul  its  life  and  succour  brings  ; 
My  help  is  aU  laid  up  above ; 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

Contented  now,  upon  my  thigh 

I  halt  tiU  Kfe's  short  joui-ney  end ; 
All  helplessness,  all  weakness,  I 

On  Thee  alone  for  strength  depend  ; 
Nor  have  I  power  from  Thee  to  move  ; 
Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love. 

Lame  as  I  am,  I  take  the  prey, 

Hell,  earth,  and  sin  with  ease  o'ercome  ; 

I  leap  for  joy,  pursue  my  way, 

And  as  a  bounding  hart  iiy  home  ! 

Through  aU  eteiiiity  to  prove. 

Thy  nature  and  Thy  name  is  Love." 

The  author  of  this  hymn  came  to  the  end  of  his  journey 
at  last.  His  toils,  and  wrestlings,  and  hymnings  by  the 
way  were  over ;  but,  true  to  his  calling  up  to  the  latest 
ytep,  even  when  his  feet  were  "  dipped  in  the  brim  of  the 
Jordan,"  he  gave  forth,  as  his  final  hymn  by  the  way,  his 
pai'ting  song — 

In  age  and  feebleness  extreme, 
Who  shall  a  sinful  worm  redeem  ? 
Jesus,  my  only  hope  Thou  art. 
Strength  of  my  failing  flesh  and  heart ; 
Oh,  could  I  catch  one  smile  from  Thee, 
And  drop  into  eternity  ! 

His  prayer  was  answered.  He  caught  that  smile,  and  now 
it  may  be  said  of  him,  that  the  principles  and  feelings  with 
which  he  began  his  course  as  a  hymnist  were  his  principles 
and  feelings  up  to  the  end  ;  they  were  holy  and  i)ure. 
"  From  the  first  day  until  the  day  of  Christ  "  dawned  on 
him,  he  had  been  "  steadfast,  uumovable,  always  abound- 
ing in  the  work  of  the  Lord."  This  is  more  than  can  be 
recorded  of  some  whose  hymns  still  give  pleasure  to  every 
Christian  who  knows  and  sings  them.  There  is  a  touching 
and  instructive  tradition  about  one  in  particular,  showing 
that  hymns  once  given  out  from  a  simple  loving  Christian 
heart  may  serve  to  beguile  the  journey  of  many  a  pious 


HYMNS  BY  THE  WAY.  22^ 

wayfarer,  while  they  now  and  then,  in  after  days,  spring 
up  in  the  path  of  their  authors  to  reprove  them  for  deny- 
ing and  forsaking  that  Saviour  of  whom  and  to  whom  they 
once  BO  sweetly  sane,-.  It  used  to  be  more  easy  to  beguile 
the  way  with  chat  in  the  old  coaching  days  than  it  is  now 
amidst  the  hurry,  rattle,  and  screech  of  our  iron  roads. 
It  was  more  possible  then  to  get  an  occasional  bit  of 
agreeable  reading  too,  and,  among  inside  passengers 
especially,  there  was,  at  times,  a  sort  of  Old  English  free- 
dom in  the  mutual  enjoyment  of  a  book.  It  is  said  that 
one  day,  on  one  of  the  well-known  roads,  a  lady  had 
been  for  some  time  engaged  over  one  page  of  a  little  book, 
which,  in  the  course  of  the  journey,  she  had  occasionally 
consulted.  Turning,  at  length,  to  her  companion  in 
travel,  a  gentleman  from  whose  appearance  she  gathered 
that  an  appeal  on  such  a  question  would  not  be  disagreeable, 
she  held  the  open  page  towards  him,  and  said,  "  May  I 
ask  your  attention  to  this  hymn,  and  ask  you  to  favour  me 
with  your  opinion  of  it  ?     Do  you  know  it  ?"     It  was — 

Come,  Thou  Fount  of  every  blessing, 

Tune  my  heart  to  sing  Thy  grace : 
Streams  of  mercy,  never  ceasing. 

Call  for  songs  of  loudest  praise. 
Teach  me  some  celestial  measiire, 

Sung  by  ransomed  hosts  above ; 
Oh,  the  vast,  the  boundless  treasxire 

Of  my  Lord's  unchanging  love  I 

Here  I  raise  my  Ebenezer ; 

Hither,  by  Thy  help  I'm  come  ; 
And  I  hope,  by  Thy  good  pleasure, 

Safely  to  arrive  at  home. 
Jesus  sought  me  when  a  stranger, 

Wandering  from  the  fold  of  God ; 
He,  to  save  my  soul  from  danger, 

Interposed  His  precious  blood. 

Oh !  to  grace  how  great  a  debtor, 

Daily  I'm  coiistrained  to  be ; 
Let  that  grace.  Lord,  like  a  fetter, 

Bind  my  wandering  soul  to  Thee. 
Prone  to  wander  ;  Lord,  I  feel  it ; 

Prone  to  leave  the  God  I  love  ; 
Here's  my  heart,  Lord,  take  and  seal  it. 

Seal  it  from  Thy  courts  above. 

Her   companion   glanced  down  the  page,  and  made  an 

P 


226  HYMN- WRITERS  A^"D  THEIR  HYMNS. 

attempt  to  excuse  himself  from  conversation  on  the 
merits  of  the  hymn ;  but  the  lady  ventured  on  another 
appeal. 

"  That  hymn  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure,"  she 
said  ;  "its  sentiments  so  touch  me  ;  indeed,  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  much  good  it  has  done  me.  Don't  you  think  it 
very  good?" 

"Madam!"  said  the  stranger,  bursting  into  tears,  "I 
am  the  poor  unhappy  man  who  wrote  that  hymn  many 
years  ago,  and  I  would  give  a  thousand  worlds,  if  I  had 
them,  to  enjoy  the  feelings  I  then  had." 

Poor  Robinson !  it  was  he,  the  victim  of  eccentricity, 
love  of  change,  and  self-conceit;  it  was  he  of  whom  Robert 
Hall  said,  "  He  had  a  musical  voice,  and  was  master  of  all 
its  intonations ;  he  had  wonderful  self-passion,  and  could 
say  what  he  pleased,  ivhen  he  pleased,  and  hoiv  he  pleased." 
Like  many  other  men  of  popular  and  versatile  talents, 
however,  he  ran  a  zigzag  course.  Now,  one  of  Whitefield's 
converts,  and  a  student  at  "the  Tabernacle"  as  a  Cal- 
vinistic  Methodist ;  now,  an  Independent  minister ;  now, 
a  Baptist,  translating  Saurin's  sermons,  dealing  in  coals 
and  corn,  writing  a  history  of  baptism,  in  which  all  the 
jumbled  powers  and  oddities  of  his  character  seem  to  be 
reflected ;  and,  at  last,  a  Socinian,  groping  his  way  down- 
ward into  the  cheerless  gloom,  to  realize  the  awful  meaning 
of  an  inspired  utterance,  "He  that  despised  Moses'  law 
died  without  mercy  under  two  or  three  witnesses  :  of  how 
much  sorer  punishment,  suppose  ye,  shall  he  be  thought 
worthy  who  hath  trodden  under  foot  the  Son  of  God,  and 
hath  counted  the  blood  of  the  covenant,  wherewith  he  was 
sanctified,  an  uniioly  thing,  and  hath  done  despite  unto  the 
Spirit  of  grace  ?" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

EYMJSrS  ON  TEE  WATERS. 

"  Hast  tKou  heard  of  a  shell  on  the  margin  of  ocean, 
Whose  pearly  recesses  the  echoes  still  keep, 
Of  the  music  it  canght  when,  with  tremnlous  motion, 
It  joined  in  the  concert  poured  forth  by  the  deep  ? 

"  And  fables  have  told  us  when  far  inland  carried, 
To  the  waste  sandy  desert  and  dark  ivied  cave. 
In  its  musical  chambers  some  murmurs  have  tarried, 
It  learnt  long  before  of  the  wind  and  the  wave." 

Just  at  the  opening  of  the  seventeenth  century,  a  clergy- 
man in  Hull  was  stepping  into  a  boat  with  a  young  couple, 
whom  he  was  going  to  marry  in  Lincolnshire.  The  weather 
was  calm,  and  there  was  the  promise  of  a  bright  voyage  to 
the  scene  of  the  wedding;  but  a  mysterious  sense  of  coming 
danger  pressed  upon  the  good  parson's  heart,  and  throwing 
his  cane  on  shore  as  the  boat  went  off,  he  cried,  "Ho,  for 
heaven  !  "  The  shout  was  prophetic  ;  neither  he,  nor 
bridegroom,  nor  bride  returned.  They  never  reached  the 
altar.  They  sank  together.  It  was  indeed,  "Ho,  for 
heaven  !  "  The  son  of  that  prophetic  pastor  lived  to  give 
us  one  of  the  best  boat  songs  that  ever  floated  over  the 
waters,  or  charmed  a  pilgrim  on  the  ocean.  This  was 
Andrew  Marvel,  the  friend  of  Milton,  and  his  associate  as 
private  secretary  to  Cromwell.  A  man  who  was  faithful  to 
his  principles,  and  held  his  integrity  though  tempted  in  the 
hour  of  need  by  offers  of  a  royal  bribe  ;  one  whose  ability 
and  honourable  bearing  secured  his  election  as  Member  of 
Parliament  for  his  native  city  ;  and  whose  genius,  talent, 
honour,  and  wit  were  always  engaged  for  goodness  and 
truth  against  corruption,  falsehood,  and  wrong.     Did  you 


228  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

ever  read  his  Tvhimsical  reflections  on  Holland  ?  They 
prove  that  Dutchmen  were  not  his  favourites.  Their  politics, 
were  not  his.  And  his  lines  serve,  too,  to  show  the  powev 
which  he  could  wield  as  a  satirist :  — 

Holland,  that  scarce  deserves  the  name  of  land, 

As  but  th'  offscouring  of  the  British  sand  ; 

And  so  much  earth  as  was  contributed 

By  English  pilots  when  they  heave  the  lead, 

Or  what  by  th'  ocean's  slow  alluvion  fell 

Of  shipwreck' d  cockle  and  the  mussel  shell — 

This  undigested  vomit  of  the  sea 

Fell  to  the  Dutch  by  just  propriety. 

This  is  enough  as  evidence  that  his  memory  justly  in- 
herits the  distinction  of  great  humour  and  satirical  genius. 
But  he  was  a  good  man.  Nor  was  he,  as  a  poet,  less  cap- 
able of  tenderness  and  reverent  beauty,  when  they  were 
called  for,  than  for  logical  and  acute  philippic.  Of  course, 
he  would  deeply  sympathize  with  the  emigrants  who  in  his 
day  fled  their  country  to  avoid  the  oppression  to  which  they 
were  subject  for  their  religious  and  ecclesiastical  principles ; 
and  for  those  of  them  who  found  their  way  to  the  Bermudas 
he  wrote  a  hymn  which  lives  to  give  pleasure  to  the  devout 
taste  of  every  following  generation  : — 

Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 

In  ocean's  bosom  unespied, 

From  a  small  boat  that  row'd  along, 

The  listening  winds  received  their  song. 

"  What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze, 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown, 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own ! 

"  Where  Ho  the  huge  sea-monsters  racks, 
That  Hf  t  the  deep  upon  their  backs ; 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage, 
Safe  from  the  storm's  and  tyrant's  rage. 

"  He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring 
Which  here  enamels  everything, 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care, 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 

"  He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright, 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night, 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame, 
A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 


nY:«NS  ON  THE  WATERS.  229 

*'  Oh !  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 
Till  it  arrive  at  heaven's  vault, 
Wliich  then  perhaps  rebounding  may 
Echo  bej^ond  the  Mexique  bay." 

Thus  sang  they  in  the  English  boat 
A  holy  and  a  cheerful  note, 
And  all  the  way  to  guide  their  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

None  but  a  kind  heart,  and  a  good  one,  too,  wonid 
provide  hymns  like  this  for  those  who  toil  at  the  oar,  and 
it  is  a  happy  thing  for  human  life  that  such  kind  hearts  do 
not  fail.  0]ie  follows  another,  as  men  need  songs  on  the 
waters.  Marvel  sang  for  emigrant  boatmen  on  the  island 
shores  of  the  west ;  AVordsworth  has  furnished  us  with 
h^^mn  music  from  the  boatmen  on  the  Neckar.  Those  who 
have  wandered  on  the  Eliine,  and  have  allowed  themselves 
to  be  drawn  aside  by  the  charms  which  surround  some  of 
its  tributaries,  will  remember  the  beauties  that  cluster 
about  Heidelberg,  and  allow  many  of  its  river  scenes  to 
enrich  the  imagery  of  their  dreams  in  after-life.  It  would 
not  be  difficult  to  picture  one  wanderer  there  ;  a  wanderer 
in  whose  witching  company  many  of  us  have  sauntered 
on  an  "Excursion"  among  the  liighlands  of  Scotland,  the 
English  Lakes,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Wye  and  the 
Wharfe  :  a  Cumberland  man,  tall,  though  scarcely  of  dig- 
nified carriage ;  evidently  used  to  travel,  notwithstanding 
his  "  narrowness  and  drop  about  the  shoulders  "  ;  with  a 
face,  however,  telling  of  deep  thoughts  and  beautiful  day- 
dreams, and  eyes  that  seemed  like  windows  opening  into 
some  pure  spiritual  world,  and  emitting  "  the  light  that 
never  was  on  land  or  sea."  Who  would  not  know  William 
Wordsworth?  and  who  would  not  enjoy  to  watch  him,  on 
the  river  bank  or  near  the  rapids,  catching  the  spirit  of 
the  boatmen's  chant,  and  helping  us  to  sympathize  with 
them  in  danger,  and  to  join  them  in  their  hymn? — 

Jesu !  bless  our  slender  boat, 

By  the  current  swept  along; 
Loud  its  threatenings — let  them  not 

Drown  the  music  of  a  song 
Breathed  Thy  mercy  to  implore, 
Where  these  troubled  waters  roar. 

Saviour,  for  our  warning,  seen 
Bleeding  on  that  precious  rood ; 


230  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

If  while  through  the  meadows  green 

Gently  woimd  the  peaceful  flood, 
We  forgot  Thee,  do  not  Thou 
Disregard  Thy  suppliants  now ! 

Hither,  like  yon  ancient  tower 

Watching  o'er  the  river's  bed, 
Ming  the  shadow  of  Thy  power, 

Else  we  sleep  among  the  dead  ; 
Thou  who  trod'st  the  billowy  sea, 
Shield  us  in  our  jeopardy. 

Guide  our  bark  among  the  waves  ; 

Through  the  rocks  our  passage  smooth  ; 
Where  the  whirljDOol  frets  and  raves. 

Let  Thy  love  its  anger  soothe  ; 
All  our  hope  is  placed  in  Thee ; 
Miserere  Domine ! 

No  one  can  think  of  Wordsworth,  and  the  English  lakes 
without  having  Coleridge  and  Southey  before  him.  Nor 
could  he  fail  to  see  that  plain-looking  house  a  little  way 
out  of  Keswick,  standing  on  a  gentle  eminence  over  the 
river  Greta,  near  the  old  hridge.  Greta  Hall  woidd  be 
interesting  to  all  who  love  songs  on  the  waters;  for  there  it 
was  that  Caroline  Bowles  appeared  as  Mrs.  Southey  a 
few  years  before  the  poet's  death  ;  and  there  she  minis- 
tered to  the  paralysed  man  who  had  so  widely  influenced 
the  literature  of  his  times ;  and  there,  like  his  guardian 
spirit,  she  watched  and  soothed  him  through  the  dimness 
and  depression  of  his  closing  hours.  She  would  be  thought 
of  with  deep  respect  as  the  second  wife  of  Southey,  but 
she  has  for  ever  established  her  claim  on  our  admiration 
and  esteem  by  such  touching  appeals  to  our  best  feelings 
as  we  have  in  her  Mariner's  Hymn  : — 

Launch  thy  bark,  mariner ! 

Christian,  God  speed  thee  ! 
Let  loose  the  rudder-bands — 

Good  angels  lead  thee  ! 
Set  thy  sails  warily, 

Tempests  will  come  ; 
Steer  thy  course  steadily  ; 

Christian,  steer  home  ! 

Look  to  the  weather  bow. 

Breakers  are  round  thee  ; 
Let  fall  the  plummet  now. 

Shallows  may  ground  thee. 


HYMNS  ON  THE  WATERS.  231 

Reef  in  the  foresail,  there  ! 

Hold  the  helm  fast ! 
So — let  the  vessel  wear — 

There  swept  the  blast. 

"  What  of  the  night,  watchman  ? 

What  of  the  night?" 
"  Cloudy — all  quiet — 

No  land  yet — all's  right." 
Be  wakeful,  be  vigUant — 

Danger  may  be 
At  an  hour  when  all  seemeth 

Securest  to  thee. 

How!  gains  the  leak  so  fast? 

Clean  out  the  hold — 
Hoist  up  thy  merchandise, 

Heave  out  thy  gold  ; 
There — let  the  ingots  go — 

Now  the  ship  rights  ; 
Hurra !  the  harbour's  near^ 

Lo !  the  red  lights  ! 

Slacken  not  sail  yet 

At  inlet  or  island ; 
Straight  for  the  beacon  steer, 

Straight  for  the  high  land ; 
Crowd  all  thy  canvas  on, 

Cut  through  the  foam — 
Christian,  cast  anchor  now — 

Heaven  is  thy  home  ! 

Hymns  on  tlie  waters  come  Ayitli  their  richer  and  deeper 
m.usic  to  the  heart  when  they  are  sung  to  us  by  gifted 
spirits,  who  have  themselves  gone  "down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  to  do  business  in  great  waters,  to  see  the  works  of 
the  Lord  and  His  wonders  in  the  deep  ; "  or  who,  on 
missions  of  mercy,  have  been  "in  the  deep,"  "  in  perils  of 
waters,  and  in  perils  in  the  sea."  Among  these  Charles 
Wesley  is  a  remarkable  example,  combining  as  he  does,  in 
his  ocean  songs,  the  recollections  of  an  experienced  ob- 
server, fine  poetic  power,  a  jubilant  faith,  and  devout  feel- 
ing. There  is  a  record  in  the  journal  which  he  kept  on  his 
voyage  back  from  America,  in  1736,  which  helps  to  open 
the  secret  of  his  success  in  his  hymns  for  mariners : 
"  Thursday,  Oct.  28th,"  says  he,  "  the  captain  warned  me 
of  a  storm  approaching.  In  the  evening,  at  eight,  it  came, 
and  rose  higher  and  higher.     Often  I  thought  it  must  have 


232  HTMN-"SVEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

come  to  its  strength,  for  I  did  not  lose  a  moment  of  it, 
being  obliged  by  bodily  suffering  to  rise  freqnently.  At 
last  the  long-Trished-for  morning  came,  but  brought  no 
abatement  of  the  storm.  There  was  so  prodigious  a  sea, 
that  it  quickly  washed  away  our  sheep,  and  half  our  hogs, 
and  drowned  most  of  our  fowls.  The  ship  had  been  new 
caulked  at  Boston,  how  carefully  it  now  appeared ;  for, 
being  deeply  laden,  the  sea  streamed  in  at  all  sides  so 
plentifully,  that  it  was  so  much  as  four  men  could  do,  by 
continual  pumping,  to  keep  her  above  water.  I  rose  and 
lay  down  by  turns.  1  it  could  remain  in  no  posture  long; 
strove  vehemently  to  pray,  but  in  vain  ;  persisted  in  striv- 
ing, yet  still  without  effect.  I  prayed  for  power  to  pray, 
for  faith  in  Jesus  Christ,  continiialh^  rej^eating  His  name, 
till  I  felt  the  virtue  of  it  at  last,  and  knew  that  I  abode 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.  It  was  now  about 
three  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  storm  at  the  height.  I 
endeavoured  to  encourage  poor  Mr.  Brig  and  Cutler,  who 
were  in  the  utmost  agony  of  fear.  I  prayed  with  them 
and  for  them  till  four,  at  which  time  the  ship  made  so  much 
water,  that  the  captain,  finding  it  impossible  otherwise  to 
save  her  from  sinking,  cut  down  the  mizen  mast.  In  this 
dreadful  moment,  I  bless  God,  I  found  the  comfort  of  hope, 
and  such  joy  in  finding  I  could  hope  as  the  world  can 
neither  give  nor  take  away.  I  had  that  conviction  of  the 
power  of  God  present  with  me,  overruling  my  strongest 
passion,  fear,  and  raising  me  above  what  I  am  by  nature, 
as  surpassed  all  rational  evidence,  and  gave  me  a  taste  of 
the  Divine  goodness.  At  the  same  time  I  found  myself 
constrained  in  spirit  to  bear  witness  to  the  ^Mth."  With 
scenes  like  these  pictured  in  his  soiil,  who  can  wond^^r  that 
his  hallowed  genius  found  expression  in  such  hymns  as 
this : — 

O  Thoii  who  didst  prepare 
The  ocean's  eavemed  cell, 
And  teach  the  gathering  waters  there 
To  meet  and  dwell ; 
Toss'd  in  our  rei  lin.,-  bark 
Upon  this  briny  sea, 
Tliy  wondrous  ways,  O  Lord,  we  mark, 
And  sing  to  Thee. 

That  glorious  hand  of  Thine 
Which  fills  the  fount  of  day, 


HYMNS  ON  THE  "WATERS.  233 

And  gives  the  lunar  orb  to  sliine 
With  silv'ry  ray, 
Which  hangeth  forth  on  high 
The  clustering  dews  of  night, 
Can  point  beneath  a  beamless  sky 
Our  course  aright. 

Borne  on  the  dark'ning  wave, 
In  measured  sweep  we  go, 
Nt.r  dread  th'  unfathomable  grave 
Which  yawns  below; 
*  For  He  is  nigh  who  trod 

Amid  the  foaming  spray, 
Wliose  billows  own'd  th' Incarnate  God, 
And  died  away. 

How  terrible  art  Thou 
In  all  Thy  wonders  shown  ; 
Though  veiled  in  Thine  eternal  brow, 
Thy  steps  unknown ! 
Invisible  to  sight, 
But  oh !  to  faith  how  near ; 
Beneath  the  gloomiest  cloud  of  night 
Thou  beamest  here. 

To  peaceful  rest  we  go, 
And  close  our  tranquil  eyes  ; 
Though  deep  beneath  the  waters  iiow. 
And  circling  rise. 
Though  swells  the  flowing  tide. 
And  threatens  far  above. 
We  know  in  Whom  our  souls  confide 
With  f fearless  lo'-o. 

Snatch'd  from  a  darker  deep. 
And  waves  of  wilder  foam, 
Thou,  Lord,  oiu-  trusting  souls  wilt  keep. 
And  waft  them  home — 
Home,  where  no  storm  can  sound, 
Nor  angry  waters  roar. 
Nor  troiiblous  biUows  heave  around 
That  peaceful  shore. 

The  journal  continues,  "Towards  morning,  the  sea  heard 
and  obeyed  the  Divine  voice,  'Peace,  be  still ! '  The  calm 
day  that  now  broke  on  the  weather-beaten  men  was  Sun- 
day ;  and,"  says  the  hymnist,  "  my  first  business  to-day — 
may  it  be  the  business  of  all  my  days  ! — was  to  offer  up 
the  sacrifice  of  jiraise  and  thanksgiving.  Then  we  all 
joined  in  thanks  for  our  deliverance."  And  how  he  could 
render  thanks  for  such  deliverances  we  know  from  the  echo 
of  his  song.     It  is  repeated  to  this  day. 


234  HYMN-WEITEKS  AJS^D  THEIR  HYMNS. 

All  praise  to  the  Lord, 

Who  rules  with  a  word 

Th'  untractable  sea, 
And  limits  its  rage  by  His  steadfast  decree  ; 

Whose  providence  binds 

Or  releases  the  winds. 

And  compels  them  again, 
At  His  beck  to  put  on  the  invisible  chain. 

Oh  that  all  men  would  raise 

A  tribute  of  praise, 

His  goodness  declare. 
And  thankful  confess  His  fatherly  care! 

With  joy  we  embrace 

This  pledge  of  His  grace, 

And  wait  to  outfly 
These  storms  of  affliction,  and  land  in  the  sky 

It  is  natviral  that  one  wlio  had  known  the  mingled 
pleasures,  discomforts,  and  dangers  of  a  sea  voyage,  should 
look  with  kind  sympathy  on  those  who  are  just  emLarking; 
and,  where  a  kind  heart  and  ready  muse  are  agreed,  that 
symjoathy  would  i:)rom2^t  a  tuneful  prayer  for  the  use  of  all 
who  look  for  God's  blessing  when  "going  on  shipboard." 
Charles  Wesley,  always  in  tune  for  such  service,  has 
cheered  tremulous  hearts  on  many  a  deck  with  his  hymn — 

Lord,  whom  winds  and  waves  obey, 
Guide  us  through  the  wateiy  way  ; 
In  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand, 
Hide  and  bring  us  safe  to  laud. 

Jesus,  let  our  faithful  mind 
Rest,  on  Thee  alone  reclined  ; 
Every  anxious  thought  repress, 
Keep  our  souls  in  perfect  peace. 

Keep  the  souls  whom  now  we  leave. 
Bid  them  to  each  other  cleave  ; 
Bid  them  walk  on  life's  rough  sea  ; 
Bid  them  come  by  faith  to  Thee. 

Save,  till  all  these  tempests  end, 
All  who  on  Thy  love  depend  ; 
Waft  our  happy  spirits  o'er  ; 
Land  us  on  the  heavenly  shore. 

About  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago,  on  a  low  sandy 
island,  almost  covered  with  palm  trees,  a  few  leagues 
south-east  from   Sierra  Leone,  on   the  western  coast  of 


HYMNS  ON  THE  WATEES.  235 

Africa,  a  wretched-looking  young  Englishman  might  be 
seen  toiling  in  a  plantation  of  lemon  trees.  He  was 
barely  covered  with  an  old  trousers  and  shirt,  a  j-ard  or 
two  of  cotton  wrapped  about  his  shoulders,  and  an  old 
handkerchief  around  his  head.  There  he  worked,  without 
shelter  from  the  sun,  or  the  gales  and  torrents  of  the  rainy 
season,  half-starved,  craving  unwholesome  roots  to  allay 
his  hunger.  Like  another  prodigal,  "no  man  gave  unto 
him" — no,  nor  woman  either.  Slaves  shunned  him;  and 
the  only  woman  who  noticed  him  was  a  sinful  black 
tyrant,  who,  in  vicious  association  with  his  master,  sported 
with  his  miseries,  and  answered  his  appeals  for  mercy  by 
aggravating  his  woe.  He  had  brought  himself  into  this 
coi  liiion  by  his  reckless  profligacy.  He  was  but  twenty  ; 
but  his  few  years  had  been  filled  to  overflowing  with  un- 
godliness in  its  most  blasphemous  forms.  Born  of  a  pious 
mothe-",  his  childhood  hallowed  by  her  instruction,  and 
blessed  in  youth  with  fair  j^rospects,  he  nevertheless  took 
to  the  sea  in  early  life  in  a  manner  which  disappointed  his 
friends ;  cut  himself  off  from  one  good  after  another  ;  was 
pressed  into  the  naval  service,  degraded  from  his  first 
honours ;  passed  into  the  African  trade  on  the  slave 
coast ;  was  now  a  castaway,  and  had  become  all  but  the 
hopeless  slave  f^f  a  man  who  engaged  him  in  the  meanest 
drudgery  of  his  meanest  traffic.  This  woe-begone  pro- 
digal was  John  Newton,  afterwards  known  as  the  reverend 
rector  of  St.  Woolnoth,  London,  the  friend  of  Cowper,  the 
compiler  of  the  "  Olney  Hymns,"  and  the  hymnist  whose 
songs  have  so  often  quickened  failing  hearts  into  cheerful 
worship  both  on  land  and  at  sea.  His  adventures  on  sea 
and  land  may  be  called  romantic.  On  escaping  from  his 
degradation  on  the  African  coast,  he  was  still  a  rover,  but 
at  last  on  a  homeward  voyage,  Divine  mercy  arrested  him. 
A  terrible  storm  fell  on  them.  Death  raged  around  the 
sinking  ship  ;  and  then  it  was,  as  he  says,    "I  began  to 

pray I  could  not  utter  the  prayer  of  faith  ;  I  could 

not  draw  near  to  a  reconciled  God,  and  call  Him  Father. 
My  prayer  was  like  the  cry  of  the  ravens,  which  yet  the 
Lord  does  not  disdain  to  hear."  The  Lord  heard  his  cry. 
The  storm  was  hushed  ;  but  then  came  on  the  horrible 
thought  of  slow  death  uj)on  the  deep  from  the  failure  of 
provisions,  and  the  lack  of  means  to  hasten  the  shattered 


236  HYMN- "WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HTMNS. 

vessel  toward  the  land.  "I  had  a  New  Testament,"  he 
tells  us,  "I  was  struck  with  several  passages,  but  parti- 
cularly the  '  Prodigal,'  a  case,  I  thought,  that  had  never 
been  so  nearly  exemplified  as  by  myself ;  and  then,  the 
goodness  of  the  fatlier  i:i  receiving,  .  ay,  in  running  to 
meet  such  a  son,  and  this  intended  to  illustrate  the  Lord's 
goodness  to  returning  sinners.  This  gained  upon  me.  I 
continued  much  in  prayer ;  I  saw  that  the  Lord  had  inter- 
posed so  far  to  save  me,  and  I  hoped  he  would  do  more. 
The  outward  circumstances  h piped  in  this  place  to  make  me 
still  more  serious  and  earnest  in  crying  to  Him  who  alone 
could  relieve.  I  saw  that,  by  the  way  pointed  out  in  the 
gosj)el,  God  might  declare,  not  His  mercy  onlj',  but  His 
justice  also,  in  the  pardon  of  sin  on  the  account  of  the 
obedience  and  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ.  .  .  .  Thus, 
to  all  appearance,  I  was  a  new  man."  In  this  return  to 
his  heavenly  Father,  amidst  the  terrors  of  an  ocean  storm 
there  was,  it  may  be,  the  first  kindling  of  that  hallowed 
genius  wliich  afterwards  recorded  the  penitent  mourner's 
feelings  thus : — 

I  hear  the  tempest's  awful  sound, 
I  feel  the  vessel's  quick  rebound  ; 
And  fear  might  now  my  bosom  fill, 
But  Jesus  tells  me,  "Peace !  Be  still !  " 

More  and  more  loud  the  billows  roar, 

Par  distant  is  the  friendly  shore  ; 

But  evei    storms  obey  PI     will, 

And  He  can  tell  them,  "  Peace !  Be  still ! " 

In  this  dread  hour  I  cling  to  Thee, 

My  Saviour  crucified  for  me. 

If  that  1 23erish  be  Thy  will, 

In  death,  Lord,  whisper,  "  Peace !  Be  stiU ! " 

My  soul,  I  charge  thee  not  to  fear : 

Jesus  is  nigh,  my  p:'ayer  to  hear  ; 

His  promise  He  can  now  fulfil, 

And  to  the  waves  say,  "  Peace  !  Be  still '. " 

Hark !  He  has  listen' d  while  I  prayed. 
Slowly  the  tempest's  rage  is  stayed  ; 
The  yielding  waves  obey  His  will, 
Jesus  hath  bid  them,  "  Peace !  Be  still !  " 

I/ord,  I  adore  Thy  sovereign  power  ! 
My  Rescuer  from  danger's  hour ; 
Oh,  when  dark  fears  my  bosom  fill, 
"Whisper  me  ever,  "  Peace  I  Be  still !  " 


HYMNS  ON  THE  WATERS.  237 

Newton  returned  to  liis  native  land  a  new  man,  not,  as 
he  modestly  said,  "  to  all  appearance"  merely,  but  tridy 
so  in  lieart  and  life.  His  circumstances  improved  as  his 
Christian  character  brightened ;  and  although  his  peculiar 
habits,  contracted  under  uncommon  circumstances,  kept 
him  in  almost  a  secret  enjoyment  of  inward  religion  for 
several  years,  his  light  could  not  be  hid.  His  Christian, 
life  was  not  interrupted  even  by  the  associations  around 
him  in  the  slave  trade,  which,  like  many  good  men  of  his 
day,  he  continued  to  share  in.  While  yet  a  lad,  he  had 
conceived  a  pure  and  warm  affection  for  a  young  girl,  the 
daughter  of  his  departed  mother's  nearest  friends;  and 
that  affection  which,  like  a  cord  of  heaven's  weaving,  kept 
his  heart  in  gentle  bondage  all  through  his  seven  years 
of  wild,  uneasy  departure  from  Grod,  now  drew  him  into  a 
happy  marriage  with  the  woman  who  was  still  the  choice 
of  his  soul.  And  now  his  peaceful  life  was  spent  between 
quiet  scenes  at  home  and  voyaging  and  travelling  abroad. 
While  in  the  country  at  home,  "  Some  hours  every  day," 
he  writes,  "I  passed  in  retirement,  when  the  weather 
was  fair;  sometimes  in  the  thickest  woods,  sometimes 
on  the  highest  hills,  where  almost  every  step  varied  the 
prospect.  There  it  was  my  custom  for  many  years  to 
perform  my  devotions.  These  rural  scenes  have  a 
tendency  both  to  refresh  and  compose  my  spirits.  A 
beautiful  diversified  pros]5eet  gladdens  my  heart.  I 
consider  myself  as  in  the  great  temple  which  "the  Lord 
has  built  for  His  own  honour."  He  was  now  in  easy 
circumstances ;  and  what  a  change !  What  a  hush  was 
come  upon  him !  and  how  the  world  even  had  altered  its 
aspect  towards  him!  "I  remember,"  says  he,  "that  on 
some  of  those  mournful  days  which  I  spent  on  that  African 
island,  I  was  busied  in  planting  lemon  trees.  The  plants 
I  put  into  the  ground  were  no  larger  than  a  young  goose- 
berry bush  ;  my  master  and  his  black  mistress,  passing  by 
my  place,  stopped  awhile  to  look  at  me;  at  last,  'Who 
knows,'  says  he,  '  who  knows  but  by  the  time  these  trees 
grow  up  and  bear,  you  may  go  home  to  England,  obtain 
the  command  of  a  ship,  and  return  to  reap  the  fruit  of  your 
labours?  we  see  strange  things  sometimes  happen.'  This, 
as  he  intended  it,  was  a  cutting  sarcasm.  I  believe  he 
thought  it  full  as  probable  that  I  should  live  to  be  the 


238  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

king  of  Poland.  Yet  it  proved  a  prediction,  and  they  (one 
of  them  at  least)  lived  to  see  nae  return  from  England,  in 
the  capacity  lie  had  mentioned,  and  pluck  some  of  the  first 
limes  from  those  very  trees."  Yes,  his  life  was  a  life  of 
■wondrous  change  and  romantic  interest.  His  course  of 
life  as  a  sea-captain  was  equally  remarkable  with  his 
adventures  as  a  young  outcast.  On  his  voyages,  he  rubbed 
up  his  Latin,  until  his  classic  reading  was  respectable. 
He  mastered  the  Greek  of  the  New  Testament  and 
the  Septuagint,  so  far  as  to  enjoy  the  sacred  text.  He 
learnt  to  read  the  Hebrew  Pentateuch  and  Psalms  without 
the  aid  of  a  lexicon  ;  did  something  in  Sj^riac  ;  gained 
French  enough  to  transact  business  in  foreign  parts,  and 
read  much  of  the  best  English  divinity.  What  an  interest 
gathers  round  the  seafaring  student !  "  To  be  at  sea,"  he 
remarks,  "  withdrawn  out  of  the  reach  of  innumerable 
temptations,  Avith  opportunity  and  a  turn  of  mind  disposed 
to  observe  the  wonders  of  God  in  the  great  deep,  with  the 
two  noblest  objects  of  sight,  the  expanded  heaven  and  the 
expanded  ocean,  continually  in  view;  and  when  evident 
interpositions  of  Divine  Providence,  in  answer  to  prayer, 
occur  almost  every  day; — these  are  helps  to  quicken  and 
confirm  the  life  of  faith,  which  in  a  good  measure  supply 
to  a  religious  sailor  the  want  of  those  advantages  which 
can  be  enjoyed  only  upon  the  shore.  I  never  knew  sweeter 
or  more  frequent  hours  of  divine  communion  than  in  my 
last  two  voyages  to  Guinea,  when  I  was  either  almost 
secluded  from  society  on  shipboard,  or  when  on  shore 
amongst  the  natives.  I  have  wandered  through  the  woods, 
reflecting  on  the  singular  goodness  of  the  Lord  to  me,  in  a 
place  where  perhaps  there  was  not  a  person  that  knew 
Him  for  some  thousand  miles  around  me.  Many  a  time, 
upon  these  occasions,  I  have  restored  the  beautiful  lines  of 
Propertius  to  their  right  owner ;  lines  full  of  blasphemy 
and  madness  when  addressed  to  a  creature,  but  full  of 
comfort  and  propriety  in  the  mouth  of  a  believer  : — 

Sic  ego  desertis  joassim  bene  vivere  sylvis,  etc.,  etc. 

paraphrased — 

In  desert  woods  with  Thee,  my  God, 
Wliere  hirnian  footsteps  never  trod. 
How  happy  could  I  be  : 


htm:n"s  on  the  "waters.  239 

Thou  my  repose  from  care,  my  light 
Amidst  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
In  solitude  my  company." 

How  instructive  is  it  to  Tvatcli  this  future  pastor  and 
hymnist  through  the  processes  of  his  preparation  for  the 
usefulness  of  his  life's  eventide.  How  the  beauty  of  some 
of  his  hymns  brightens,  and  how  much  more  deeply  they 
touch  us,  when  they  are  read  and  sung  with  the  scenes  in 
which  he  learnt  to  sing  vividly  before  us.  Who  can  follow 
the  studious,  prayerful,  and  .poetic  sea-captain  over  the 
waters  of  his  changeful  life  without  having  a  richer  relish 
for  that  sea-going  hymn  of  his  on  Paul's  voyage  ? — 

If  Paul  in  Caesar's  court  must  stand. 

He  need  not  fear  the  sea  ; 
Secured  from  harm  on  every  hand 

By  the  Divine  decree. 

Although  the  ship  in  which  he  sailed 

By  dreadful  storms  was  tossed ; 
The  promise  over  all  prevailed. 

And  not  a  life  was  lost. 

Jesus,  the  God  whom  Paul  adored, 

Who  saves  in  time  of  need, 
Was  then  confessed  by  all  on  board, 

A  present  help  indeed. 

Though  neither  sun  nor  stars  were  seen, 

Paul  knew  the  Lord  was  near ; 
And  faith  preserved  his  soul  serene, 

When  others  shook  for  fear. 

Believers  thus  are  tossed  about 

On  life's  tempestuous  main  ; 
But  grace  assures  beyond  a  doubt 

They  shall  their  port  attain. 

They  must,  they  shall,  appear  one  day 

Before  their  Saviour's  throne  ; 
The  storms  they  meet  with  by  the  way 

But  make  His  power  known. 

Their  passage  lies  across  the  brink 

Of  many  a  threatening  wave  ; 
The  world  expects  to  see  them  sink. 

But  Jesus  lives  to  save. 

Lord,  thoug'h  we  are  but  feeble  worms, 

Yet  since  Thy  word  is  passed. 
We'll  venture  through  a  thousand  storms, 

To  see  Thy  face  at  last. 


240  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Otliers  "besides  old  sailors,  however,  can  sometimes  give 
us  hymns  on  the  waters.  Quiet,  home-keeping  spirits,  like 
Toplady  or  Kelly,  when  they  have  felt  the  breath  of  that 
Spirit  who  "  moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters,"  have 
given  out  utterances  which  have  been  caught  "  afar  off 
upon  the  sea,"  and  have  fallen  upon  the  tremulous  half- 
engulphed  soul  with  hushing  and  reviving  power,  akin  to 
the  voice  "  which  stilleth  the  noise  of  the  seas,  the  noise  of 
the  waves,  and  the  tumult  of  the  people."  "  I  was  once  on 
my  way  to  the  Antipodes,"  said  a  voyager,  who  had  gone 
around  the  world  several  times.  "  The  vessel  was  a  trans- 
port ;  and  we  had  a  large  number  of  troops  on  board.  So 
multitudinous  a  companionship  was  not  exactly  to  my  taste 
on  the  high  seas  ;  but  one  must  make  the  best  of  circum- 
stances ;  and,  on  the  whole,  my  cabin  life  was  as  pleasant 
as  could  be  in  such  a  case.  All  went  on  very  safely  till  one 
night,  the  horrors  of  which  will  live  to  play  discords  on  my 
nerves  as  long  as  nerves  are  a  part  of  my  inheritance.  I 
had  got  into  my  berth,  and  was  fast  asleep;  when  about 
the  middle  of  the  night,  I  was  startled  by  a  shock,  and 
then  alarmed  by  a  strange  hubbub  of  creaking  timbers, 
shuffling  feet,  and  hoarse  voices,  striving  with  the  whist- 
ling roaring  wind,  and  then,  my  senses  were  scarcely 
clear  from  sleep,  when  there  came  a  thundering  crash ; 
down  went  the  vessel  on  her  beam-ends,  and  down  came  the 
rushing  sea,  all  but  filling  the  cabins,  and  at  once  putting 
out  the  lights.  There  was  an  awful  hush  for  a  moment, 
and  then  the  first  voice  that  broke  it  came  from  an  officer 
who  leaped  out  of  an  adjoining  berth,  with  imprecations 
that  made  my  blood  run  chill,  and  cried,  '  This  is  like  hell 
when  the  fire  is  put  out ! '  One  felt  for  an  instant  as  if  he 
were  engulphed  in  hell  itself,  but  just  then  some  gentle 
spirit  seemed  to  touch  my  tremulous  heart ;  there  came  a 
sweet  calm  over  my  soul.  I  quietly  lay  in  my  berth,  and 
felt  as  if  voices  from  the  better  land  were  singing  to  me 
that  beautiful  hymn — 

Why  those  fears  ?    Behold,  'tis  Jesus 
Holds  the  helm  and  guides  the  ship ; 

Spread  the  sails  and  catch  the  breezes, 
Sent  to  waft  us  through  the  deep, 

To  the  regions 
Where  the  mourners  cease  to  weep. 


HYMNS  ON  THE  WATERS.  241 

Led  by  Him,  we  brave  the  ocean  ; 

Led  by  Him,  the  storm  d^fy  ; 
Cabn  amidst  tumultuous  motion, 

Knowing  that  our  Lord  is  nigh. 
Waves  obey  Him, 

And  the  storms  before  Him  fly. 

Safe  in  His  most  sure  protection, 

We  shall  pass  the  watery  waste ; 
Trusting  to  His  wise  direction. 

We  shall  gain  the  port  at  last ; 
And,  with  wonder, 

Think  on  toils  and  dangers  past. 

Oh,  what  pleasures  there  await  us  I 

There  the  tempests  cease  to  roar ; 
There  it  is,  that  they  who  hate  us 

Shall  molest  our  peace  no  more  : 
Troixble  ceases 

On  that  tranquil,  happy  shore ! 

We  lived  to  outride  tlie  storm,  but  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall 
feel  that  the  experience  of  that  night  for  ever  hallowed  to 
me  the  memory  of  Thomas  Kelly.  His  long  life  (from  1 769 
to  1855,  began  and  ended  in  Dublin)  was  not  spent  in  vain, 
if  that  hymn  alone  had  been  all  its  fruit.  One  thinks  with 
pleasure  of  his  sixty  years  of  Christian  usefulness;  but,  oh, 
that  hymn !  on  that  night !  Blessings  on  his  name  !  "  As 
a  hymnist,  verily,  Kelly's  ever-living  influence  will  illustrate 
his  own  happy  saying.  Lord  Plunket,  an  old  school-fel- 
low of  his,  met  him  one  day  in  later  life,  and  said,  "  You 
will  live  to  a  great  age,  Mr.  Kelly!"  "Yes,"  was  his 
reply,  "  I  am  confident  I  shall,  as  I  expect  never  to  die  ! " 
The  circumstances  under  which  Kelly's  charming  verses 
came  with  such  soothing  music  to  the  voyager  amidst  the 
horrors  of  the  midnight  squall,  naturally  send  the  thoughts 
to  a  scene  in  "the  last  days  of  Bishop  Heber."  Archdeacon 
Eobinson  states  that,  when  sailing  to  Madras,  they  had  a 
detachment  of  invalid  troops  on  board.  The  good  bishop's 
heart  was  engaged  in  their  behalf,  and  he  claimed  the  privi- 
lege of  acting  as  their  pastor.  ' '  I  have  too  little  in  my 
situation,"  he  said,  "of  those  pastoral  duties,  which  are  as 
useful  to  the  minister  as  to  his  people ;  and  I  am  delighted  at 
the  opportunity  thus  unexpectedly  afforded  me."  And  so, 
with  his  Prayer-book  in  his  hand,  he  went  below  from 
time  to  time,  to  minister  to  the  sufferers.  Nor  was  it  in  vain; 

Q 


242  nYMN- WRITERS  AXD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

their  hearts  were  touched.  "Only  think,"  they  said,  "of  sueh 
a  great  man  as  the  bishop  coming  between  decks  to  jpray 
with  such  poor  fellows  as  we  are."  One  poor  mother  on 
board  had  lost  her  infant ;  the  bishop  committed  the  little 
one  to  the  deep,  and  then  visited  the  mourner  in  her  cabin, 
and  ministered  consolation  to  her  heart.  "At  intervals," 
says  a  witness,  "I  hear  him  weeping  and  praying  for  her 
in  his  own  cabin.  I  have  never  seen  such  tenderness, 
never  such  humble  exercise  of  Christian  love.  Alas  !  how 
his  spirit  shames  us  all !  I  thank  Grod  that  I  have  seen 
his  tears,  that  I  heard  his  prayers,  his  conversation  with 
the  afflicted  mother,  and  his  own  pi-ivate  reflections  upon 
it.  It  has  made  me  love  him  more,  and  has  given  me  a 
lesson  of  tenderness,  in  visiting  the  afflicted,  that  1  trust 
will  not  be  in  vain."  Happy  was  it  for  the  transport  ship 
in  which  Heber  had  a  berth.  Not  that  even  his  gracious 
presence  could  secure  her  from  squalls,  but  his  loving  zeal 
could  minister  life  to  the  souls  on  board  ;  and  when  squalls 
came,  his  sanctified  genius  could  teach  his  companions  in 
danger  to  chant  the  disciples'  prayer,  "Save,  Lord,  or  we 
perish !  " 

"VAHien  th"'oiig-li  the  torn  sail 
The  Tvild  tempest  is  streaming, 

"When  o'er  the  dark  wave 

The  red  lightning  is  gleaming, 

Nor  hope  lends  a  I'ay 
The  poor  seaman  to  cherish. 

We  fly  to  our  Maker — 

"  Save,  Lord !  or  we  perish !  " 

O  Jesus  I  once  toss'd 

On  the  breast  of  the  billow. 
Aroused  by  the  shriek 

Of  despair  from  Thy  pillow. 
High  now  in  Thy  gloiy 

Still  the  mariner  cherish, 
Who  cries,  in  his  anguish, 

"  Save,  Lord !  or  we  perish !  " 

And  oh,  when  the  storm 

Of  wild  passion  is  raging, 
When  sin  in  our  hearts 

Its  fierce  warfare  is  waging. 
Arise  in  Thy  strength, 

Tliy  redeemed  to  cherish, 
Eebuke  the  destroyer — 

"  Save,  Lord !  or  we  perish ! " 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 
SOXGS  OF   THE  MORNING. 

"  But  I  will  sing  of  Thy  power :  yea,  I  will  sing  aloud  of  Thy  mercy  in 
the  morning." 

It  is  pleasant  to  sit  in  tlie  oriel  windoTV  of  an  old  gramniar- 
school  library,  ^vith  the  many-coloured  light  falling  on  the 
open  folio  as  it  lies  on  the  ponderous  reading-desk,  and  to 
hear,  amidst  one's  musings,  the  music  of  the  boys'  voices 
as  their  morning  hymn  comes  floating  up  along  the  gallery, 
gently  touching  the  soul  with  its  mellow  harmony.  How 
many  a  time  since  the  fourteenth  century,  when  William 
of  Wykeham  opened  his  AVinchester  School,  has  such 
morning  music  charmed  the  old  college  of  that  storied  city. 
Bishop  Mant  used  to  think  with  pleasure  of  the  morning 
hymn  which  the  boys  used  to  sing  in  that  school  in  his  days. 
It  was  the  simple,  beautiful,  and  devout  old  song,  '^  Jam 
lucis  orto  sidere,^''  etc.,  and  nothing  could  be  more  happily 
chosen  as  a  morning  song  for  the  young  scholars.  Mant 
threw  his  whole  soul  into  his  translation  of  it : — 

Brightly  shines  the  morning  star  : 

Pray  we  God  His  grace  to  give, 
That  from  sin  and  danger  far 

We  the  coming  day  may  live. 

That  the  tongue  by  Him  withheld, 
May  from  sounds  of  strife  refrain  ; 

That  the  eye,  from  roving  quelled, 
Seek  not  sights  corrupt  or  vain ; 

That  the  heart,  with  pureness  fraught, 

May  from  folly  turn  aside  ; 
And  the  flesh,  by  temperance  taught, 

Calm  its  lusts  and  veil  its  pride. 


244  HYMN-WEITERS  AJSTD  THEIE  HYMN'S. 

That,  when  the  day  shall  close, 

And  the  night  successive  bring, 
We,  triiunphant  o'er  our  foes, 

May  oui-  hymn  of  glory  sing  ; 

Glory,  Sire  of  all,  to  Thee  ; 

And  to  Thee,  co-equal  Son, 
With  the  Spirit  glory  be  ; 

One  in  Three,  and  Three  in  One. 

Between  one  and  two  hundred  years  before  Mant's  time, 
that  same  hymn  was  sung  in  that  same  school,  and  among 
the  rest  of  the  voices  then  swelling  the  devout  music  there 
was  Ken's  ;  and  how  far  the  style,  and  manner,  and  sjDirit 
of  that  ancient  hymn  served  to  form  that  habit  of  tuneful 
expression  which  afterwards  distinguished  the  good  bishop, 
who  can  tell  ?  Should  we  ever  have  had  his  inimitable 
morning  hymn  but  for  that  early  Winchester  exercise? 
Probably,  when  in  after-life  he  used  to  chant  his  own 
morning  and  evening  hymns  to  the  music  of  his  lute,  his 
soul  was  giving  forth  the  echoes  of  the  old  melody  which 
had  so  deeply  touched  his  poetic  soul  while  yet  a  boy.  To 
think  of  morning  songs  is  always  to  think  of  Bishop  Ken, 
and,  whether  the  morning  be  bright  or  dull,  his  hymn  is 
always  fresh : — 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  ; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Thy  precious  time  misspent  redeem  ; 
Each  present  day  thy  last  esteem  ; 
Improve  thy  talent  with  due  care ; 
Por  the  great  day  thyseK  prepare. 

In  conversation  be  sincere ; 
Keep  conscience  as  the  noontide  clear ; 
Tliiuk  how  all-seeing  God  thy  ways 
And  all  thy  secret  thoughts  surveys. 

By  influence  of  the  light  divine. 
Let  thy  own  light  to  others  shine  ;     . 
Keflect  all  heav'n's  propitious  rays, 
In  ardent  love  and  cheerful  praise. 

Wake  and  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart, 
And  with  the  angels  bear  thy  part. 
Who  all  night  long  unwearied  sing 
High  praise  to  the  Eternal  King. 


SONGS  OF  THE  MORNING.  245 

A-wuke !  awake !  ye  heavenly  choir, 
May  your  devotion  me  inspire, 
That  I,  like  you,  my  age  may  spend, 
liike  you,  may  on  my  God  attend. 

May  I,  like  you,  in  God  delight, 
Have  all  day  long  my  God  in  sight. 
Perform  hke  you  my  Maker's  vsoll ! 
Oh  may  I  never  more  do  ill  1 

Had  I  your  wings,  to  heaven  I'd  ily ; 
But  God  shall  that  defect  supply  ; 
And  my  soul,  wing'd  with  warm,  desire, 
Shall  all  day  long  to  heaven  aspire. 

AU  praise  to  Thee,  who  safe  has  kept, 
And  hast  refreshed  me  while  I  slept ! 
Grant,  Lord,  when  I  from  death  shall  wake, 
I  may  of  endless  light  partake  i 

I  would  not  wake  nor  rise  again, 
Ev'n  heaven  itself  I  would  disdain, 
"Wert  Thou  not  there  to  be  enjoy'd 
And  I  in  hymns  to  be  employ'd. 

Heav'n  is,  dear  Lord,  where'er  Thou  art ; 
Oh  never  then  from  me  depart  1 
For,  to  my  soiil,  'tis  heU  to  be 
But  for  one  moment  void  of  Thee. 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew  ; 
Disperse  my  sins  as  morning  dew. 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thoiight  and  will, 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest,  this  day, 

All  I  design,  or  do,  or  say  ; 

That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  might. 

In  Thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow ! 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below  ! 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host ! 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

.The  best  of  men  are  never  entirely  independent  of  cir- 
cumstances. Our  religious  feelings  and  expressions  often 
take  their  tone  from  the  atmosj^here  about  us,  and  espe- 
cially from  the  present  physical  condition  of  the  outer  man. 
Thoiaght  flows  freely,  or  lags  in  heaviness,  just  as  the 
subtle  influences  around  us  quicken  or  oppress.  And 
though  no  mere  circumstances  can  entirely  quench  the  fire 


243  HYMjy-WRITEES  A^"D  THEIR  HYMIsS. 

of  genius,  or  prevent  tlie  Cliristiau  poet  from  uttering  his 
inspirations,  3'et  his  hymns  and  songs  will  often  be  sprightly 
or  plaintive  as  outward  changes  pass  over  him,  or  as  the 
condition  of  his  physical  life  is  shadowy  or  bright.  Each 
morning  seems  to  bring  its  own  inspiration  to  every  pious 
hymnist.  The  morning  song  should  be  sprightly ;  but 
sometimes  even  the  morning  has  shadows  which  give  a 
kind  of  holy  melancholy  to  the  tone  of  praise.  The  praise 
that  should  wing  its  way  upward,  now  and  then  lingers  in 
the  form  of  plaintive  reflection  or  humble  appeal.  So  in 
one  of  Toplady's  songs  of  the  morning.  Not  far  from  a 
spot  in  his  Devonshire  parish,  where  Cluniac  monks  used 
to  sing  such  morning  songs  as  came  from  their  brother, 
Bernard  of  Morlaix,  and  others,  his  kindred  hymnists, 
Toplady  learnt  to  wear  his  weak  body  down  by  nightly 
stud}'-,  until  his  morning  songs  became  rather  sombre  or 
languid  at  times,  so  that  they  touch  our  human  sympathy, 
while  they  give  a  subdued  tone  of  feeling  to  our  worship. 
Nevertheless,  that  day  is  well  begun  which  opens  with  a 
s,ong  from  the  author  of  "  Eock  of  Ages."  His  "  Hymn 
for  the  Morning  "  runs  thus  : — 

Jesus,  by  wliose  grace  I  live, 

From  the  fear  of  evil  kept, 
Thou  hast  lengthen'd  my  reprieve, 

Held  in  being  while  I  slept ; 
With  the  day  my  heart  renew  ; 
Let  me  wake  Thy  will  to  do. 

Since  the  last  revolving  dawn 

Scattered  the  nocturnal  cloud, 
Oh,  how  many  souls  have  gone, 

Unprepared  to  meet  their  God  ! 
Yet  Thou  dost  prolong  niy  breath, 
Hast  not  seal'd  my  eyes  in  death. 

Oh,  that  I  may  keep  Thy  word, 
Taught  by  Thee  to  watch  and  pray 

To  Thy  service,  dearest  Lord, 
Sam  tify  th'  ensuing  day  ; 

Svidft  its  fleeting  moments  haste  ; 

Doom'd,  perhaps,  to  be  my  last. 

Crucified  to  all  below. 

Earth  shall  never  be  my  care  : 
Wealth  and  honour  I  forego  ; 

This  my  only  wish  and  care. 
Thine  in  Life  and  death  to  be, 
Now  and  to  eternity. 


SONGS  OF  THE  MORNING.  247 

There  was  another  hj-mnist  of  Toplady's  time,  of  a  meiTier 
constitution  than  he — more  disposed  to  look  at  the  bright 
side  of  things,  and  having  somewhat  broader  and  more 
pleasant  sympathy  with  the  human  multitude.  His  reli- 
gious notions  would,  perhaps,  have  a  brighter  influence  on 
his  character  and  utterances  than  those  of  Toplady ;  while 
one  at  least  of  his  fixed  principles,  as  a  Christian  minister, 
would  give  a  more  lively  and  agreeable  effect  to  his  minis- 
trations both  in  prose  and  verse.  While  Toplady  was 
spending  his  energies  in  fruitless  controversy,  his  contem- 
porary, not,  perhaps,  less  learned,  but  more  practical,  was 
acting  on  his  own  advice  given  to  a  younger  man,  "  Look 
simply  unto  Jesus  for  preaching  food,  and  what  is  wanted 
will  be  given,  and  what  is  given  will  be  blessed,  whether 
it  be  barley  or  a  wheaten  loaf,  a  crust  or  a  crumb.  When 
your  heart  is  right,  meek,  and  simple,  Jesus  will  make  an 
orator  of  you ;  when  you  grow  lofty  and  are  pleased  with 
your  prattle,  Jesus  will  make  a  fool  of  you.  Your  mouth 
will  be  a  flowing  stream,  or  a  fountain  sealed,  according  as 
your  heart  is.  Avoid  all  controversy  in  preaching,  talking, 
or  writing;  preach  nothing  down  but  the  devil,  and  no- 
thing up  but  Jesvis  Christ."  A  man  of  such  views,  such 
principles,  and  such  diction,  when  gifted  with  poetic  genius, 
and  a  faculty  for  writing  hymns,  would  surely  give  out 
pleasant  songs  for  the  common  people — songs  always  loved, 
too,  by  the  cultured  lover  of  pure  Saxon,  strong  sense, 
playful  fancy,  pith,  point,  and  tender  feeling.  Such  songs 
sometimes  come  from  the  heart  and  life  of  the  amusing  and 
lovable  man  who  has  bequeathed  to  us  a  morning  hymn. 
His  mornings  were  always  bright,  it  would  seem,  and  his 
hymn  shows  how  his  cheerful  sense  of  renewed  vigour  was 
in  harmony  with  his  reverent  reliance  on  his  God. 

Through  Jesu's  watchful  caie 

I  safely  pass  the  night ; 
His  providential  arm  was  near, 

And  kept  off  every  fright. 

No  pains  upon  my  bed 

Prevented  my  repose ; 
But  laying  down  my  weary  head, 

Refresh' d  with  sleep  I  rose. 

And  here  I  stand  possest 

Of  strength  and  vigour  new  ; 


248  nTMK'-'WEITEES  AJSTD  THEIR  HTM^STS. 

And  Trith  my  limbs  and  senses  blest, 
Anotlier  morn  I  view. 

From  Thee  my  mercies  flow, 

In  pearly  drops  they  fall ; 
But  give  a  thankful  bosom  too, 

The  sweetest  pearl  of  all. 

Be  Thou  my  g^de  to-day. 

My  arm  whereon  to  rest, 
My  sun  to  cheer  me  on  the  way, 

My  shield  to  guard  my  breast. 

From  Satan's  fiery  dart, 

And  men  of  purpose  base. 
And  from  the  plag'ue  within  my  heart, 

Defend  me  by  Thy  grace. 

Tliere  is  an  amusing  story  told  of  tlie  anthor  of  this 
liymn.  He  was  one  of  those  clergymen  of  his  clay  Avho 
sometimes  turned  out  from  their  parishes  as  occasional 
itinerant  preachers,  going  up  and  down  proclaiming  the 
gospel  to  the  neglected  masses.  He  had  come,  it  is  said, 
to  a  village  in  the  North  of  England  on  a  Saturday  even- 
ing. He  must  needs  stay  there  over  the  Sabbath.  But 
always  ready  for  work,  he  requested  his  host  at  the  inn  to 
go  to  the  parson  of  the  parish  and  state  that  a  clergyman 
was  stopping  at  his  house  who  would  be  glad  to  assist  the 
vicar  at  the  service  to-morrow.  The  vicar  was  cautious. 
"  We  must  be  careful,"  said  he,  "  for  you  know  there  are 
many  of  these  wandering  Methodist  preachers  about. 
What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?"  "  Oh,  it  is  all  right,  sir,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "just  see  his  nose,  sir,  that  will  tell  you  he  is 
no  Methodist."  "Well,  ask  him  to  call  on  me  in  the 
morning,"  said  the  parson,  "  and  I  shall  judge  for  myself." 

The  call  was  made,  and  the  waggish  and  somewhat 
rubicund  nose  was  a  sufficient  introduction  to  the  pulpit. 
The  morning  came.  The  congregation  gathered.  The 
vicar  read  prayers,  and  then  the  stranger  mounted  the 
pulpit.  It  must  be  all  right,  tlie  vicar  may  have  thought ; 
for  there  seemed  to  be  waggish  thoughts  playing  around 
the  corners  of  the  preacher's  mouth,  and  there  was  that 
remarkable  peaked  and  kindling  nose  which  threatened  to 
provoke  a  laugh  among  his  hearers.  Nor  would  his  first 
address  belie  his  features.  It  seemed  to  be  pleasant  talk 
from  the  pulpit.     The  preacher  is  rather  homely  and  blunt. 


SOKGS  OF  THE  MORNING.  249 

But  everybody  listens,  for  everybody  thinks  and  feels  that 
the  parson  is  speaking  to  him.  By  and  by,  however,  his 
home-thrusts  at  the  conscience  make  his  hearers  somewhat 
uneasy ;  but  ere  they  are  prepared  for  defence,  the  sharp 
piercing  sentences  come  in  such  rapid  succession  that  both 
vicar  and  flock  find  themselves  arrested  as  sinners  before 
God— 

And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 

With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 

E'en  children  follow'd  with  endearing  wile, 

And  pluck'd  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 

The  "good  man's  smile"  was  always  ready  for  those 
who  sought  it,  and  his  loving,  mirthful  heart  was  always 
open  to  those  who  wanted  to  know  more  about  his  Divine 
Lord  and  Master.  The  gifted  itinerant  was  no  other  than 
t]ie  humorous  but  holy  and  eminently  useful  John 
Berridge,  vicar  of  Everton,  in  Bedfordshire.  His  racy 
letters,  brimful  of  wit ;  his  "  Christian  World  Unmasked," 
with  its'  union  of  drollery  and  seriousness  ;  the  floating 
traditions  about  his  active  and  holy  life ;  and  the  still 
accumulating  fruits  of  his  preaching ; — all  serve  to  keep 
alive  and  fresh  the  memory  of  this  early  Methodist  clergy- 
man ;  this  eccentric  but  sanctified  genius,  who,  with  Wesley 
and  others,  worked  in  the  pulpit,  with  his  pen,  at  home 
and  abroad  for  the  religious  renovation  of  his  country.  He 
wrote  his  hymns  as  he  preached  his  sermons,  for  those  who 
needed  them  most ;  and  he  never  failed  to  engage  the 
hearts  as  well  as  the  taste  and  understanding  of  those  to 
whom  he  preached,  and  for  whom  he  wrote.  What  child 
of  Grod  who  has  learnt  his  "  Labourer's  Morning  Hymn," 
will  ever  cease  to  love  the  name  of  the  man  who  has  helped 
him  to  sing  of  a  morning  : — 

I  thank  my  Lord  for  kindly  rest 

Afforded  in  the  night ; 
Eefresh'd  and  with  new  vigour  blest, 

I  wake  to  view  the  light. 

What  need  I  grieve  to  earn  my  bread, 

When  Jesus  did  the  same  ? 
If  in  my  Master's  steps  I  tread, 

No  harm  I  get,  or  shame. 


250  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Oh  let  me  bless  with  thankful  miud, 

My  Saviour's  love  and  care, 
That  I  am  neither  sick,  nor  blind, 

Nor  lame  as  others  are  ! 

A  trusty  workman  I  would  be, 

Ajiid  well  my  task  pursue  ; 
Work  when  my  master  does  not  see, 

And  work  with  vigour  too. 

And  whilst  I  ply  the  busy  foot, 

Or  heave  the  labouring  arm, 
Do  Thou  my  withering  strength  recruit, 

And  guard  me  well  from  harm. 

To  sweeten  labour  let  my  Lord 

Look  on,  and  cast  a  smile  ; 
For  Jesus  can  such  looks  afford, 
'  As  well  the  hours  beguile. 

Berridge  was  ready  for  all  work,  and  for  work 
among  all  classes,  for  his  Master's  sake  ;  but  in  all  his 
works,  and  among  all  classes,  he  was  the  same  honest, 
transparent,  loving  spirit,  acting  and  speaking  "with  the 
most  earnest  purity  amidst  all  the  sparkle  and  ^jlay  of 
his  humorous  genius  ;  always,  and  to  all,  expressing 
himself  in  the  purest,  clearest,  most  pithy,  racy,  and  pro- 
verb-like style  of  his  native  tongue.  Now,  as  in  his 
"  Christian  World  Unmasked,"  he  says,  "  Gentle  reader, 
lend  me  a  chair,  and  I  will  sit  down  and  talk  a  little  with 
you.  Give  me  leave  to  feel  your  pulse.  Sick,  indeed,  sir, 
very  sick,  of  a  mortal  disease,  which  infects  your  whole 
mass  of  blood.  .  .  .  .'  Let  me  step  into  your  closet, 
sir,  and  peep  upon  its  furniture.  My  hands  are  pretty 
honest,  you  may  trust  me  ;  and  nothing  will  be  found,  I 
fear,  to  tempt  a  man  to  be  a  thief.  Well,  to  be  sure,  what 
a  filthy  place  is  here !  never  swept  for  certain  since  you 
were  christened !  and  what  a  fat  idol  stands  skulking  in 
the  corner  ! — a  darling  sin,  I  warrant  it !  How  it  simpers, 
and  seems  as  pleasant  as  a  right  eye!  Can  you  find  a 
will  to  part  with  it,  or  strength  to  pluck  it  out?  And 
supposing  you  a  match  for  the  self-denial,  can  you  so  com- 
mand your  heart  as  to  hate  the  sin  you  do  forsake  ?  This 
is  certainly  required ;  truth  is  called  for  in  the  inward 
parts."  At  another  time  he  is  writing  to  his  dear  Eowly 
(young  Eowland  Hill),   "When  I  began  to  itinerate,  a 


SONGS  OF  THE  MOENIJS'G.  251 

miiltitucle  of  dangers  seemed  ready  to  engulpli  me.  My 
friends  were  up  in  arms,  my  college  was  provoked,  my 
bishop  incensed,  the  clergy  on  fire,  and  the  church  canons 
were  pointing  their  ghastly  mouths  at  me ;  my  fii-st 
diocesan  told  me  that  I  should  soon  be  either  in  Bedlam 
or  in  jail.  But,  through  the  good  blessing  of  my  God,  I 
am  yet  in  the  possession  of  my  senses,  my  tithes,  and  my 
liberty  ;  and  He  who  has  hitherto  delivered,  I  trust  will 
yet  deliver  me  from  ecclesiastical  fires,  and  the  j)aw  of 
worldly  bears.  I  have  suffered  from  nothing  except  from 
lapidations  and  pillory  treats,  which  yet  have  proved  more 
frightful  than  hurtful.  If  you  are  invited  to  go  out,  and 
feel  yourself  inclined  to  do  so,  take  a  lover's  leap,  neck  or 
nothing,  and  commend  yourself  to  Jesus.  Ask  no  man's 
leave  to  preach  Christ ;  that  is  imevangelical  and  shame- 
ful. Seek  not  much  advice  about  it ;  that  is  dangerous. 
Such  advice,  I  find,  generally  comes  the  wrong  way — 
heels  uppermost.  Most  preachers  love  a  snug  church  and 
a  whole  skin,  and  what  they  love  they  will  prescribe.  If 
you  are  determined  to  be  evangelically  regular,  that  is, 
secidarly  irregular,  then  expect,  wherever  you  go,  a 
storm  will  follow  you,  which  may  fright  you,  but  will 
bring  no  real  harm.  Make  the  Lord  your  whole  trust, 
and  all  will  be  well."  And  then  again,  from  such  stirring 
correspondence  with  clerical  friends,  we  find  him  turning 
to  give  lessons  in  psalmody  to  such  as  do  not  often  catch 
the  attention  of  educated  poets — the  domestic  servant.  Ho 
teaches  her  to  sing,  as  she  begins  her  morning  work  :  — 

To  Jesus,  my  dear  Lord,  I  owe 

The  rest  I  had  this  night ; 
By  Him  preserved  from  every  "woc, 

I  wake  to  view  the  light. 

Accept,  O  Lord,  my  early  praise, 

It  is  Thy  tribute  due  ; 
And  let  the  morning  song  I  raise, 

Rise  with  affection  too. 

My  dear  Redeemer,  while  on  earth, 

A  servant  was  to  all ; 
With  ready  foot  He  stepped  forth, 

Attentive  to  each  call. 

If  unto  labour  I  am  bred. 

My  Saviour  was  the  same ; 
Why  then  should  I  a  service  dread, 

Or  count  it  any  shame  ? 


252  HTMN-WHITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Tet,  Lord,  I  need  a  patient  mind, 

And  beg  a  ready  will, 
To  pay  my  master  service  kind, 

And  every  task  fulfil. 

No  saucy  language  I  would  use, 

Nor  act  a  treacherous  part, 
But  serve  him  with  the  purest  views, 

And  work  with  freest  heart. 

Many  labourers  and  many  servants  thank  tliee  for  thy 
verses,  liappy,  plain-spoken,  kind  "old  Berridge,"  and  we 
hope  to  see  thy  face  some  bright  morning  when  the  Sab- 
bath sun  rises  never  to  set  again !  There  is  something 
about  "old  Berridge"  which  reminds  one  of  Gfeorge 
Wither— the  sympathy  with  all  classes,  with  human 
nature  under  all  circumstances,  the  hearty  readiness  to 
employ  the  whole  soul  for  the  good  of  all,  and  the  wonder- 
ful facility  for  adapting  forms  of  hymnic  expression  to  the 
taste  and  heart  of  those  for  whom  their  good  feeling  is 
engaged.  Wither  has  his  morning  hymn,  too ;  and  it  is 
one  of  his  finest ;  less  rugged,  and  more  free  from  those 
quaint  conceits  and  uncouth  modes  of  expression  which 
suited  the  ear  of  his  times  better  than  our  own.  It  was 
his  way,  and  a  good  way  it  was,  freely  to  give  a  "reason" 
not  merely  for  "the  hope  within"  him,  but  for  all  the 
utterances  of  his  thought  and  feeling  which  he  put  forth 
to  the  world.  "Many  dangers  hang  over  us  all  the  day," 
he  says,  "  therefore,  before  we  venture  forth  to  follow  our 
afi'airs,  we  might  be  more  safe  if  we  were  first  charmed  by 
such  invocations  as  these  : — 


Since  Thou  hast  added  now,  O  God  ! 
Unto  my  life  another  day, 
And  giv'st  me  leave  to  walk  abroad, 
And  laboiu-  in  my  lawful  way  ; 

My  walks  and  works  with  me  begin ; 

Conduct  me  forth,  and  bring  me  in. 

In  ev'ry  power  my  soul  enjoys 

Internal  virtues  to  improve  ; 

In  ev'ry  sense  that  she  employs 

In  her  external  works  to  move, 

Bless  her,  0  G-od,  and  keep  me  sound, 
From  outward  harm  and  inward  wound. 


SOXGS  OF  THE  MOENIXG.  253 

Let  sin  nor  Satan's  fraud  prevail, 
To  make  my  eye  of  reason  blind  ; 
Or  faith,  or  hope,  or  love  to  fail, 
Or  any  virtues  of  the  mind  ; 

But  more  and  more  let  them  increase, 

And  bring  me  to  my  end  in  peace. 

Lewd  courses  let  my  feet  forbear. 

Keep  Thou  my  hands  from  doing-  wrong  ; 

Let  not  ill  counsel  pierce  my  ear, 

Nor  wicked  words  defile  my  tongue  ; 

And  keep  the  windows  of  each  eye, 
That  no  strange  lusts  climb  in  thereby. 

But  guard  Thou  safe  my  heart  in  chief, 

That  neither  hate,  revenge,  or  fear. 

Nor  vain  desire,  vain  joy,  or  grief. 

Obtain  command  or  dwelling  there. 

And,  Loi'd,  with  ev'ry  saving  grace, 
Still  true  to  Thee  maintain  that  place. 

From  open  wrongs,  from  secret  hates. 
Preserve  me  likewise,  Lord,  this  day  ; 
From  slanderous  tongues,  from  wicked  mates. 
From  ev'ry  danger  in  my  way. 

My  goods  to  me,  secure  Thou  too, 

And  prosper  all  the  works  I  do. 

So  till  the  evening  of  this  morn, 
My  time  shall  then  so  well  be  spent. 
That  when  the  twilight  shall  return, 
I  may  enjoy  it  with  content ; 

And  to  Thy  praise  and  honour  say. 

That  this  has  proved  a  happy  day." 

But  who,  in  the  course  of  his  morning  devotions,  can 
omit  a  song  which  so  associates  the  first  kindlings  of  praise 
and  thanksgiving  with  balmy  thought  about  gracious 
example,  as  the  h^^mn  which  comes  to  us  from  the  reverend, 
gentle,  elegant,  and  glowing  Bishop  Heber?  His  eye 
falls,  it  may  be,  on  David's  anthem  of  thanksgiving, 
"Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  daily  loadeth  us  with  benefits," 
and  his  devout  and  tuneful  spirit  sings  : — 

Wliat  secret  hand  at  morning  light, 

By  stealth  unseals  mine  eye  ; 
Draws  back  the  curtain  of  the  night, 

And  opens  earth  and  sky  ? 

'Tis  Thine,  my  Grod  ! — the  same  which  kept 

My  resting  hours  from  harm  ; 
No  ill  came  nigh  me,  for  I  slept, 

Beneath  th'  .Almighty's  arm. 


254  HYMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMXS. 

'Tis  Thine  my  daily  bread  ■which  brings 

Like  manna  scattered  round  ; 
And  clothes  me  as  the  lily  springs 

In  beauty  from  the  ground. 

This  is  the  hand  which  saved  my  frame, 

And  gave  my  pulse  to  beat ; 
'\^^lich  bare  me  oft  through  flood  and  flame, 

Through  tempest  cold,  and  heat. 

In  death's  dark  valley  though  I  stray, 

'Twould  there  my  steps  attend  ; 
Guide  with  the  staff  my  lonely  way, 

And  with  the  rod  defend. 

May  that  dear  Hand  uphold  me  still, 

Through  life's  uncertain  race, 
To  bring  me  to  Thy  holy  hill, 

And  to  Thy  dwelling-place. 

Have  yoii  learnt  to  sing  within  yourself  a  hymn  like 
this  as  each  morning  opens  on  you  ?  If  not,  enter  on  the 
practice  and  pursue  it,  until  it  becomes  your  morning 
habit,  and  you  will  realize  the  habitual  enjo}"ment  of  a 
poor,  but  religiously  intelligent  man,  whose  very  ajipear- 
ance  and  manners  were  beautifully  illustrative  of  a  peace- 
ful, happy  religion.  It  was  thought  that  the  secret  of  his 
inward  but  evident  repose  would  be  touched  by  one 
question  ;  he  was  asked,  "  I  suppose  your  first  work  of  a 
morning  is  to  pray?  " 

"No." 

"No!     What  then  is  it ? " 

"  Praise,"  said  he.  "  Praise  is  my  first  act ;  and  when 
the  day  begins  with  praise,  prayer  and  every  good  thing 
comes  in  its  turn  ;  for  you  soon  learn  the  hajipy  art  of 
turning  the  bright  side  of  things  towards  yourself,  of 
looking  at  God's  goodness  until  it  always  cheers  you,  of 
marking  the  blessings  of  each  hour  as  the  hour  passes, 
and  of  communing  with  a  happy  future  until  you  find  it 
possible  to  '  rejoice  evermore,  jjray  without  ceasing,  and  in 
everything  give  thanks.'  Thvis  '  joy  in  Christ  Jesus '  passes 
into  prayer,  and  prayer  into  thanks,  and  thanksgiving  brings 
the  happy  soul  back  again  to  the  blessed  Saviour  ;  and  so 
the  day  passes,  and  from  hour  to  hour  the  heart  keeps  up 
its  music  like  a  sweet  jpeal  of  bells ;  yes,  and  the  Holy 


SONGS  OF  THE  MORNING.  25^ 

Spirit  Himself  seems  to  be  ringing  the  clianges  in  my  soid 
of  praise  and  praj'er,  love  and  joy,  gratitude  and  peace." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  old  man's  friend,  "thank  you 
for  your  lesson  on  morning  music.  God  gives  you  the 
grace  of  praise  '  new  every  morning  ' ;  you  must  have  some 
favourite  morning  hymns." 

"  Oh  yes,  many,  many  a  hymn  and  psalm  come 
springing  up,  and  sometimes  I  wonder  how  they  come, 
for  I  do  not  knoAv  that  I  ever  took  very  great  pains  to  learn 
them.  Among  them  all  I  have  my  favourite  verses,  and 
they  are  always  fresh ;  and  it  strikes  me  that  they  bring 
their  own  tunes  with  them,  for  the  verses  no  sooner  come 
to  my  mind,  than  some  suitable  tune  flows  from  my  tongue. 
Scarcely  a  morning  opens  but  these  verses  are  forthcoming 
from  my  heart  and  lips  : — 

Christ,  whose  glory  fills  the  skies, 

Christ,  the  true,  the  only  light, 
Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise, 

Triumi^h  o'er  the  shades  of  nig-ht. 
Day-spring  from  on  high,  be  near, 
Day-star  in  my  heart  appear. 

Oh  disclose  Thy  lovely  face. 

Quicken  all  m.j  drooping  powers ; 
Gasps  my  fainting  soul  for  grace, 

As  a  thirsty  land  for  showers. 
Haste,  my  Lord,  no  more  delay, 
Come,  my  Saviour,  come  away. 

Dark  and  cheerless  is  the  morn, 

Unaccompanied  by  Thee  ; 
Joyless  is  the  day's  return, 

Till  Thy  mercy's  beams  I  see. 
Till  Thou  inward  light  impart. 
Glad  my  eyes  and  cheer  my  heart. 

Visit,  then,  this  soul  of  mine, 

Pierce  the  gloom  of  sin  and  grief ; 
Fill  me,  Eadiancy  Di^dne, 

Scatter  all  my  unbelief  ; 
More  and  more  Thyself  display. 
Shining  to  the  perfect  day." 

"  Whose  verses  are  these  ?  " 

"AVhose?     Why,  Charles  Wesley's;  and  th9y  are  so 
like   him.     Prayer  and  praise  are   always  so   cheerfully 


256  HYMN-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

intermingling  in  his  hymns.  He  must  have  been  a  cheer- 
ful Christian  ;  and  I  like  cheerful  Christians,  they  are  so 
consistent  with  their  profession.  If  the  New  Testament 
teaches  anything,  it  is  that  the  discij)les  of  Jesus  are  to  be 
happy ;  and  Charles  Wesley's  sj)iritual  songs  apj^ear  to 
breathe  that  livelj^,  bappy  spirit  which  is  so  sweetly  in  tune 
with  the  promises  of  the  new  covenant^'  There  is  another 
morning  hymn  of  his  that  I  am  fond  of  singiug.  It  tells  out 
one's  sense  of  weakness  and  dejDendence  so  sweetly,  and  yet 
gives  the  longing  soul  new  fire,  and  makes  it  feel  that  while 
it  kindles  into  warmer  desires  after  God,  everything  within, 
and  everything  without,  brightens  with  sjpiritual  joy.  This 
is  the  hymn  : — 

Jesus,  the  all-restoring  word. 

My  fallen  spirit's  hope, 
After  Thy  lovely  likeness,  Lord, 

Ah,  when  shall  I  wake  up  ? 

Thou,  O  my  God  !  Thou  only  art 

The  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way  ; 
Quicken  my  soul,  instruct  my  heart, 

My  sinking  footsteps  stay. 

Of  all  Thou  hast  in  earth  below. 

In  heaven  above  to  give, 
Give  me  Thy  only  love  to  know. 

In  Thee  to  walk  and  live. 

Fill  me  with  all  the  life  of  love ; 

In  mystic  union  join 
Me  to  Thyself,  and  let  me  prove 

The  fellowship  divine. 

Open  the  intercourse  between 

My  longing  soul  and  Thee, 
Never  to  be  broke  off  again 

To  all  eternity." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

SOIiGS    IJ^    TEE    NIGET. 

"  Ye  shall  have  a  song,  as  in  the  night  when  a  holy  solemnity  is  kept." 

"  Thoughts  at  uight  are  deepest,"  said  tlie  heavenly- 
minded  Leigliton.  And  perhaps  some  who  are  more  used 
to  night  watchings  than  to  "night  thoughts"  will  be 
disposed  to  take  up  his  style,  and  pronounce  that  music  at 
night  is  sweetest.  At  all  events,  many  of  those  who  have 
known  the  weariness  of  night  watches  will  have  some 
pleasant  recollections  of  times  when  their  spirits  have 
been  cheered  by  a  night  carol,  or  when  some  pipe  or  flute, 
or  horn,  has  given  them  a  strain,  plaintive  or  merry, 
touching  theu'  jaded  soul  pleasantly  as  it  has  come  floating 
upon  the  calm  air  of  night.  It  has  seemed  doubly  sweet 
in  the  dark  and  dreary  hour ;  and  has  brought  its  own 
welcome  to  the  watcher.  For  some  reason  or  other,  night 
music  seems  to  have  a  more  mellow  richness  and  sweeter 
melting  touch  for  the  soul  when  we  listen  to  it  by  the  sea- 
side. On  the  wild  precipitous  coast  of  Northern  Cornwall, 
there  are  the  remains  of  an  ancient  castle.  Tradition  says 
it  was  the  birth-place  of  the  British  King  Arthur.  More 
certain  records  show  that  as  early  as  1245,  Richard,  Earl 
of  Cornwall,  gave  shelter  there  to  the  rebellious  David, 
Prince  of  "Wales ;  that,  after  witnessing  many  changes,  it 
became  a  state  prison  under  Pichard  II.;  that  in  1385, 
John  Northampton,  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  for  his  "un- 
ruly mayoralty  was  condemned  thither  as  a  perpetual 
penitentiary ;  "  and  that  about  ten  years  later  it  held  as  a 
prisoner  Tliomas,  Earl  of  Warwick.  About  the  middle 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  first  and  last  "  antiquary 
royal"  of  England,  John  Leland,  visited  the  spot,  and 


258  HYMX-VPJTEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

says,  "This  castelle  liatli  bene  a  marvehis  strong  and 
notable  forteris,  and  almost  situ  loci  inexpugnabile,  especi- 
ally for  the  dungeon,  that  is  on  a  great  high  terrible 
cragge,  environed  with  the  se,  but  having  a  draw-bridge 
from  the  residew  of  the  castelle  into  it.  Shepe  now  fede 
within  the  dungeon.  The  residew  of  the  buildings  of  the 
castelle  be  sore  wether-beten  and  yn  ruine,  but  it  hath 
beene  a  large  thinge." 

A  somewhat  later  chronicler  describes  it  in  his  day — 
"Half  of  the  buildings  were  raised  on  the  continent,  and 
the  other  half  on  an  iland,  continued  together  (within 
man's  remembrance)  by  a  drawe  bridge,  but  now  divorced 
by  the  down-fain  steepe  cliffes,  on  the  farther  side,  which, 
though  it  shut  out  the  sea  from  his  wonted  recourse,  hath 
yet  more  strengthened  the  iland  ;  for  in  passing  thither 
you  miist  fu'st  descend  with  a  dangerous  declyning,  and 
then  make  a  worse  ascent,  by  a  path,  through  his  stickle- 
ness  occasioning,  and  through  his  steepnesse  threatening, 
the  ruin  of  yoiir  life,  with  the  falling  of  your  foote.  At 
the  top,  two  other  terrifying  steps  give  you  an  entrance  to 
the  hill,  which  supplieth  pasture  for  sheep  and  cowyes ; 
upon  the  same  I  saw  a  decayed  chappelle.  Under  the 
iland  runs  a  cove,  throw  which  you  may  rowe  at  ful  sea, 
but  not  without  a  kind  of  horrour  at  the  uncouthnesse  of 
the  place."  A  tourist  who  saw  it  in  the  reign  of  James  I., 
says: — "By  a  very  narrow  rockye  and  wyndinge  waye 
up  the  steepe  sea  cliffe,  under  which  the  sea  waves  wallow, 
and  so  assayle  the  foundation  of  the  ile,  as  may  astonish 
an  unstable  brayne  to  consider  the  perill,  for  the  least 
slipp  of  the  foote  sendes  the  whole  bodye  into  the  devour- 
inge  sea  ;  and  the  worste  of  all  is  higheste  of  all,  nere  the 
gate  of  entraunce  into  the  hill,  where  the  offensive  stones 
so  exposed  hang  over  the  head,  as  while  a  man  res- 
pecteth  his  footinge  he  endaungers  his  head  ;  and  lookinge 
to  save  the  head,  endaungers  the  footinge,  according  to  the 
old  proverb,  Incidit  in  Sojllam  qui  zidt  vitare  Charyhdim — 
He  must  have  his  eyes  that  will  scale  Tyntagelle." 

Not  quite  thirty  years  ago,  an  enthusiastic  band  of 
pedestrians  reached  this  romantic  scene.  It  was  about 
twelve  o'clock  at  niglit ;  and  the  young  moon  was  throw- 
ing a  faint  light  over  the  sea,  gently  touching  the  ruined 
walls,  and  half  revealing  the  mj^steries  of  the  "great  high 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT.  259 

terrible  cragge."  All  the  dangers  which  the  old  chro- 
niclers had  felt  were  threatening  still ;  hut  they  were 
braved,  and  the  green  sward  within  the  old  bounds  of  the 
"dungeon"  was  gained.  There  the  band  gathered.  It 
was  a  still  night.  The  sea  far  below  was  whispering 
among  the  caves  and  rocks.  But  tlie  hush  was  broken  by 
the  sudden  swell  of  a  night  song.  The  voices  of  the 
devout  travellers  were  as  harmonious  as  their  souls  while 
they  sang : — 

Join  all  ye  ransomed  sons  of  grace, 

The  holy  joy  prolong, 
And  shout  to  the  Redeemer's  praise 

A  solemn  midnight  song. 

Blessing,  and  thanks,  and  love,  and  might 

Be  to  our  Jesus  given. 
Who  turns  our  darkness  into  light, 

Who  turns  our  hell  to  heaven. 

Thither  our  faithful  souls  He  leads, 

Thither  He  bids  us  rise 
With  crowns  of  joj"-  upon  our  heads, 

To  meet  Him  in  the  skies. 

This  was  the  first  time  probably  that  old  Tintagel  had 
heard  a  midnight  song  like  this.  It  was  one  of  Charles 
Wesley's  "  watch-night "  hymns.  And  what  holy  associa- 
tions gather  around  those  finely-adapted  "  Songs  of  the 
Night  Season  !"  The  primitive  martyr  churches  were  in 
"  watchings  often."  Theirs  were  nights  of  prayers, 
interwoven  with  psalms  and  hymns ;  vigils,  sometimes  in 
fear  and  sometimes  jubilant.  And  who  can  chant  the 
hymns  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  night  services 
of  early  childlike  generations  of  Christian  households, 
without  catching  a  little  of  their  holy,  watchful  S23irit ! 
The  first  "watch-night"  among  the  Methodists  was  held 
in  London  on  the  9th  of  April,  1742.  "The  custom," 
says  a  Methodist  chronicler,  "  was  begun  at  Kingswood  by 
the  colliers  there,  who,  before  their  conversion,  used  to  spend 
every  Saturday  night  at  the  ale-house."  "We  commonly 
chose,"  says  Wesley  himself,  "  for  this  solemn  service,  the 
Friday  night  nearest  the  full  moon,  either  before  or  after, 
that  those  of  the  congregation  who  live  at  a  distance  may 
have  light  to  their  several  houses.     The  service  begins 


260  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

half  an  hour  past  eight,  and  continues  till  a  little  after 
midnight.  We  have  often  found  a  peculiar  blessing  at 
these  seasons.  There  is  generally  a  deep  awe  upon  the 
congregation  ;  perhaps,  in  some  measure,  owing  to  the 
silence  of  night — particularly  in  singing  the  hymn  with 
which  we  commonly  conckide  :  " — 

Hearken  to  the  solemn  Toice, 

The  awful  midnight  cry  ! 
Waiting  souls,  rejoice,  rejoice, 

And  see  the  Bridegroom  nigh  : 
Lo  !  He  comes  to  keep  His  word. 

Light  and  joy  His  looks  impart : 
Go  ye  forth  to  meet  your  Lord, 

And  meet  Him.  in  youi-  heart. 

Ye  who  faint  beneath  the  load 

Of  sin,  your  heads  lift  up  ; 
See  your  great  redeeming  God, 

He  comes  and  bids  you  hojDe  : 
In  the  midnight  of  your  grief, 

Jesus  doth  His  mourners  cheer  ; 
Lo !  He  brings  j^ou  sure  relief ; 

Believe,  and  feel  Him  here. 

Ye  whose  loins  are  girt,  stand  forth, 

Whose  lamps  are  biu-ning  bright ; 
Worthy,  in  yoiu'  Savioiu-'s  worth, 

To  walk  with  Him  in  white  : 
Jesus  bids  yoiu-  hearts  be  clean  ; 

Bids  you  all  His  promise  prove ; 
Jesus  comes  to  cast  out  sin. 

And  perfect  you  in  love. 

Wait  we  all  in  patient  hope, 

Till  Christ,  the  Judge,  shaU  come  ; 
We  shall  soon  be  all  caught  up 

To  meet  the  general  doom : 
In  an  hour  to  us  unknown. 

As  a  thief  in  deepest  night, 
Christ  shall  suddenly  come  down 

With  all  His  saints  in  light. 

Happy  he  whom  Christ  shall  find 

Watching  to  see  Him  come ; 
Him,  the  Judge  of  all  mankind 

Shall  bear  triuniphant  home. 
Who  can  answer  to  His  word  ? 

Which  of  you  dares  meet  His  day  ? 
"  Rise,  and  come  to  judg-ment !  "  Lord, 

We  rise,  and  come  away. 


SOKGS  IN  THE  NIGHT.  261 

A  watcli-nig]it  of  great  solemnity  is  always  observed  by 
the  Methodists  on  New  Year's  Eve.  A  sermon  is  preached, 
suitable  addresses  are  given,  and  the  intervals  are  spent  in 
singing  and  prayer ;  all  kneel,  and  spend  some  minutes, 
immediately  before  and  after  the  stroke  of  midnight,  in 
silent  prayer,  broken  at  length  by  the  hymn  with  which 
they  enter  on  the  New  Year. 

Between  thirty  and  forty  years  ago,  there  was  an  Eng- 
lish missionary  and  his  Iwife  stationed  on  the  island  of 
Zante,  "  the  flower  of  the  Levant,"  in  the  Ionian  Sea. 
The  mission  was  a  quiet  one,  and,  like  most  quiet  things, 
it  had  some  lasting  fruit ;  but  like  Enghsh  rule,  in  more 
cases  than  one,  its  duration  proved  to  be  limited.  The 
missionary  came  back  alone  ;  God  had  taken  from  him  the 
wife  of  his  youth.  There  is  one  now  living  who  remembers 
how  the  tears  crept  down  his  cheeks  as  he  listened  to  that 
missionary's  plaintive  and  touching  story.  "My  wife  and 
I,"  said  he,  "  entered  on  our  work  in  hope  ;  but  we  soon 
felt  that  we  were  pilgrims  indeed  in  a  strange  land.  We 
had  sympathy  from  few ;  none  joined  us  in  our  distinctive 
religious  services  ;  but  we  kept  at  our  work.  New  Year's 
Eve  came  round,  and  my  clear  wife  and  I  observed  the 
watch-night  by  ourselves.  We  could  sing,  both  of  us,  and 
our  voices  were  as  one  ;  and  we  prayed  by  turns,  and  sang 
together,  as  midnight  approached,  some  verses  of  Charles 
Wesley's : — 

We  will  not  close  our  wakef  iil  eyes, 

"We  will  not  let  oiir  eyelids  sleep. 
But  humbly  lift  them  to  the  skies, 

And  all  a  solemn  vigil  keep  : 
So  many  years  on  sin  bestow"  d, 
Can  we  not  watch  one  night  for  God  ? 

We  can,  0  Jesus,  for  Thy  sake 

Devote  our  every  hour  to  Thee : 
Sjjeak  biit  the  word,  our  souls  shall  wake. 

And  sing  with  cheerful  melody  ; 
Thy  praise  shall  oiu-  glad  tongues  employ. 
And  every  heart  shall  dance  for  joy. 

Oh  may  we  all  triumphant  rise, 

With  joy  iipon  our  heads  retxrm, 
And  far  above  these  nether  skies, 

By  Thee  on  eagles'  wings  upborne. 
Through  all  yon  radiant  circles  move, 
And  gain  the  highest  heaven  of  love  ! 


262  nYHX-WEITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

"The  next  ISTotv  Year's  Eve  came,  for  years  roll  along 
amidst  all  human  changes,  but,  ah!  my  wife  was  gone  ! 
I  had  Nvatched  her  across  the  Jordan,  and  I  was  alone. 
What  could  I  do  ?  It  was  the  watch-night.  I  had  to 
watch  alone  with  Grocl.  Where  could  I  watch  but  by  my 
Mary's  grave-side  ?  There  I  went ;  there  I  wept ;  there  I 
prayed.  I  had  no  soul  to  commune  with  or  to  speak  to ; 
but  surely,  I  thought,  my  Mary  is  here  ;  and  better  even 
than  that,  my  Jesus  is  here.  I  tried  to  sing  again  what 
we  sang  together  the  year  before,  but  tears  choked  my 
utterance  till  the  midnight  hour  struck,  and  then  there  was 
a  hush  in  my  soul ;  I  knelt  by  my  Mary's  grave,  renewed 
my  covenant  with  Christ,  gave  myself  once  more  to  His 
will ;  and,  feeling  as  if  I  were  not  without  blessed  com- 
pany— yea,  as  if  I  heard  one  beloved  voice  in  harmony 
with  mine — I  raised  the  old  New  Tear's  song,  and  sang  as 
in  company  with  the  glorified — 

Come,  let  us  anew  our  jouruey  pursue, 

Eoll  round  with  the  year, 
And  never  stand  still  till  the  Master  appear. 

His  adorable  will  let  us  gladly  fulfil, 

And  oiu"  talents  improve, 
By  the  patience  of  hope  and  the  labour  of  love. 

Our  life  is  a  dream ;  our  time,  as  a  stream, 

Glides  swiftly  away ; 
And  the  fugitive  moment  refuses  to  stay. 

The  arrow  is  flown ;  the  moment  is  gone ; 

The  millennial  year 
Hushes  on  to  oiu"  view,  and  eternity's  here. 

Oh  that  each  in  the  day  of  his  coming  may  say, 

'  I  have  fought  my  way  through  ; 
I  have  finished  the  work  Thou  didst  give  me  to  do.' 

Oh  that  each  from  his  Lord  may  receive  the  glad  word, 

'  Well,  and  faithfully  done  ; 
Enter  into  my  joy,  and  sit  down  on  my  throne.' 

This  was  my  last  watch-night  hj'mn  in  the  Ionian  Sea ; 
and  '  I  call  to  remembrance  my  song  in  the  night,'  and 
now  calmly  await  the  call  unto  that  world  where 

Death,  and  grief,  and  pain, 
And  parting  are  no  more." 


SONGS  IX  THE  XIGHT.  263 

The  lone  missionary  liacl  his  call  from  above  at  last.  He 
and  his  Mary  join  their  voices  again  now,  not  in  night 
songs,  but  in  hymns  of  gratitude  to  Him  who  once  gave 
them  "  songs  in  the  night"  in  the  house  of  their  pilgrimage. 
There  is  one  happy  spirit  with  whom  they  are  now  asso- 
ciated, to  whom  thousands  are  indebted  for  happy  means 
of  beguiling  the  wearisome  hours  of  wakeful  nights  in 
sickness  and  languor.  He  learnt  to  extract  devout  music 
from  the  hours  of  suffering  which  passed  over  him ;  and 
thus  solacing  his  own  soul,  he  has  left  consolation  for  all 
true  lovers  of  sweet  and  soothing  hymns  at  night. 

"What,  in  tears  again,  my  dear  doctor!"  Lady  Hun- 
tingdon said,  more  than  once  of  a  morning,  as  she  entered 
the  room  where  a  very  impersonation  of  meekness,  resigna- 
tion, and  love,  was  reclining,  with  a  tremulous  tear  on  his 
cheek. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply;  "but  they  are  tears  of  joy,  my 
dear  lady." 

These  tears  of  joy  were  upon  the  placid  countenance  of 
Philip  Doddridge.  His  outward  man  was  perishing,  but 
"the  inward  man  was  renewed  day  by  day."  Yes,  and 
night  by  night,  for  he  had  caught  the  spirit  of  Wesley's 
night  song : — 

O  Thou  jealous  God !  come  down, 

God  of  spotless  purity ; 
Claim,  aud  seize  me  for  Thine  own, 

Consecrate  my  heart  to  Thee  : 
Under  Thy  protection  take ; 

Songs  in  the  right  season  give ; 
Let  me  sleep  to  Thee,  aud  wake ; 

Let  me  die  to  Thee,  and  live. 

Only  tell  me  I  am  Thine, 

And  Thou  -wilt  not  quit  Thy  right ; 
Answer  me  in  dreams  divine, 

Dreams  and  visions  of  the  night ; 
Bid  me  even  in  sleep  go  on 

Restlessly,  my  God  desire  ; 
Moxu-n  for  God  in  every  groan, 

God  ui  every  thought  reqmre. 

Loose  me  from  the  chains  of  sense, 

Set  me  from  the  body  free  ; 
Draw  with  stronger  influence 

My  unfetter' d  soul  to  Thee  ; 


264  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  nTUNS. 

In  mc,  Lord,  Thj'self  reveal ; 

Fill  me  with  a  sweet  sui'prise  ; 
Let  me,  Thee,  when  waking  feel, 

Let  me  in  Thy  image  rise. 

It  "Was  not  in  vain  that  lie  had  sought  to  hallow  his 
writings  by  using  his  pen  in  private  companionship  with 
his  Saviour.  It  was  not  in  vain  that  the  first  Monday  in 
every  month  was  spent  in  meditation,  intercession,  and 
prayer,  in  that  consecrated  vestry  of  his  meeting-house  in 
Northampton.  He  had  become  so  holily  familiar  with 
truth  and  love,  that  his  days  of  decline  were  blessed  with 
tears  of  heavenly  joy,  and  his  wakeful  nights  became 
fruitful  with  hymns  and  psalms.  How  the  grateful  calm- 
ness, the  spiritual  repose,  the  Christian  submission,  and 
the  heavenly  glow  of  the  saintl}^  hj-mnist's  spirit  continues 
to  breathe  on  us  as  we  chant  with  him  on  the  return  of 
night : — 

Interval  of  grateful  shade, 

Welcome  to  my  weary  head  ; 

Weleome  slumber  to  my  eyes, 

Tired  with  glaring  vanities. 

My  great  Master  stiU  allows 
Needful  periods  of  repose  ; 
By  my  heavenly  Father  blest, 
Thus  I  give  my  powers  to  rest. 

Heavenly  Father  !  gracious  name  ! 
Night  and  day  His  love  the  same  ! 
Far  be  each  suspicious  thought, 
Every  anxious  care  forgot. 

Thou,  my  ever-bounteous  God, 
Crown' st  my  days  with  various  good 
Thy  kind  eye,  that  camiot  sleep. 
These  defenceless  hours  shall  keep. 

What  thoiigh  downy  slumbers  flee, 
Strangers  to  my  coiich  and  me  ? 
Sleepless,  well  I  know  to  rest, 
Lodged  within  my  Father's  breast. 

While  the  empress  of  the  night 
Scatters  mild  her  silver  light ; 
Wliile  the  vivid  planets  stray, 
Various  through  their  mystic  way  ; 

While  the  stars  unnumbered  roll 
Round  the  ever  constant  pole, 
Far  above  these  spangled  skies 
All  my  soul  to  God  shall  rise. 


SOJS'GS  m  THE  NIGHT.  265 

'Mid  the  silence  of  the  night, 
Mingling  with  those  angels  bright, 
Whose  harmonious  voices  raise, 
Ceaseless  love  and  ceaseless  praise. 

Through  the  throng  His  gentle  ear 
Shall  my  tuneless  accents  hear ; 
From  on  high  doth  He  impart 
Secret  comfort  to  my  heart. 

He  in  these  serenest  hours 
Giudes  my  intellectual  powers, 
And  His  Spirit  doth  diffuse 
Sweeter  far  than  midnight  dews, 

Lifting  all  my  thoughts  above. 
On  the  wings  of  faith  and  love  : 
Blest  alternative  to  me, 
Thus  to  sleep,  or  wake  with  Thee. 

What  if  death  my  sleep  invade  ? 
Should  I  be  of  death  afraid  'i 
Whilst  encircled  by  Thy  arm, 
Death  may  strike,  but  cannot  harm. 

What  if  beams  of  opening  day 
Shine  around  my  breathless  clay  ? 
Brighter  visions  from  on  high 
Shall  regale  my  mental  eye. 

Tender  friends  awhile  may  mourn 
Me  from  their  embraces  torn  ; 
Dearer,  better  friends  I  have 
In  the  realms  beyond  the  grave. 

See  the  guardian  angels  nigh, 
Wait  to  waft  my  soul  on  high  ! 
See  the  golden  gates  displayed  ; 
See  the  crown  to  grace  my  head  ; 

See  a  flood  of  sacred  light, 
Which  no  more  shall  yield  to  night. 
Transitory  world,  farewell ! 
Jesus  calls,  with  Him  to  dwell ! 

With  Thy  heavenly  presence  blest, 
Death  is  life,  and  labour  rest ; 
Welcome  sleep  or  death  to  me, 
Still  secure,  for  still  with  Thee. 

Doddridge's  hymns,  aud  some  of  his  most  useful  prose 
treatises,  were  produced  in  stray  moments,  or  what 
have  been   called  loose   intervals    of  time.     They  came 


266  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

richly  oozing  through,  the  crevices  of  the  day  or  the 
night,  the  overflowings  of  a  mind  full  of  goodness  for 
all  who  needed  Llessing.  So  when  harder  work  had 
wearied  his  thinking  head,  and  all  but  exhausted  his 
spirits,  his  tuneful  genius  breathed  forth  its  life  for  his 
own  refreshment  in  his  hymn  for  the  night ;  and  so  his 
prose  chapters  on  "  The  Eise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in 
the  Soul"  were  penned  now  and  then  as  the  happy 
thoughts'  occurred,  and  welled  up  during  moments  of 
comparative  leisure.  And  it  is  beyond  our  power  to  say 
which  has  instilled  its  saving  unction  into  the  greater 
number  of  human  souls — his  midnight  hymn,  or  his 
"prayers"  for  the  seeker  of  "religion  in  the  soul." 
"Will  those  who  have  gathered  life  from  the  daily  study 
of  his  prose  pages  outnumber  the  sufferers  whose  night 
watches  have  been  brightened  by  the  Divine  music  of  his 
hymn  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  The  fruit  of  both  is  ever  living, 
and  is  ever  accumulating  its  harvest  joys.  And  the  fruit 
of  the  one  is  ever  mixing  with  the  kindred  fruit  of  the 
other.  The  holy  work  of  a  few  well-improved  fragments 
of  time  gives  out  a  virtue  which,  like  well-directed  elec- 
trical influence,  conveys  gracious  and  quickening  power  to 
hearts  far  away  in  space,  and  at  the  most  distant  points  of 
time.  Baxter  filled  up  his  remnants  of  hours  by  writing 
his  "Saint's  Everlasting  Eest;"  that  book  touched  the 
soul  of  Doddridge,  and  gave  it  life.  Doddridge,  in  tiu-n, 
employed  his  leisure  moments  in  throwing  ofl'  his  pages 
on  "  Religion  in  the  Soul ;"  those  pages  touched  the  heart 
of  Wilberforce,  and  engaged  his  intellect  for  Chi'ist.  He 
filled  up  spare  hours  by  writing  his  ' '  Practical  View  of 
Chi'istianity ;"  that  volume  touched  the  mighty  mind  and 
heart  of  Chalmers  :  and  whose  mind  and  heart  has  not 
been,  and  will  not  be,  touched  by  the  works  of  Chalmers  ? 
"  I  used  to  read  a  great  many  books  in  my  young 
days,"  said  a  languid  sufierer  to  one  who  sat  by  him, 
"  but  of  all  I  ever  read,  nothing  did  me  so  much  good, 
and  so  helped  me  to  see  my  way  clear  to  Christ,  as 
Doddridge's  '  Eise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in  the  Soul.' 
I  was  then  feeling  after  God,  and  a  young  friend  lent  me 
the  book  ;  and  oh,  how  thankfid  I  shall  always  be  for  it ! 
The  prayers  at  the  ends  of  the  chapters  were  such  gracious 
helps  to  me.     I  used  to  pray  them  over  on  my  knees,  with 


SOXGS  i:?^  THE  NIGHT.  267 

many  tears  ;  and  then  I  learut  the  happy  art  of  throwing 
the  soul  into  a  suitable  form  of  prayer.  Indeed,  these 
forms  of  prayer  taught  me  to  pray.  And  the  answers 
have  been  coming  upon  me  ever  since.  Here  I  am,  often 
half  the  night  sleepless  and  uneasy ;  but  if  anything 
hushes  me,  it  is  going  over  those  ^oages,  and  then  in  turn 
humming  a  hymn  to  myself." 

"What  is  your  favourite  hymn?  Do  you  use  Dodd- 
ridge's beautiful  hymn  '  for  the  night'  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  written  one.  Had  I 
known  it,  I  shovJd  have  chosen  that  above  all ;  I  love 
Doddridge  so  much.  I  wish  I  had  known  his  hymn. 
But  my  favourite  has  been  the  good  old  hymn  for  mid- 
night, by  Bishop  Ken." 

Well  did  the  sufferer  call  that  hymn,  "the  good  old 
hymn."  It  is  good,  and  will  always  be  good;  it  is  as 
fresh  now  as  when  it  was  first  sung.  The  saintly  old 
bishop,  put  out  of  his  bishopric  for  conscience'  sake,  had 
gone  from  his  residence  at  Longleat,  in  Wiltshire,  on  a 
visit  to  his  nephew,  so  dear  to  those  who  love  good 
biography,  Isaac  Walton,  then  Prebendary  of  Salisbury. 
That  great  storm  which  swept  over  the  island,  in  1703, 
touched  the  old  city  rather  roughly  as  it  passed,  and  blew 
down  a  stack  of  chimneys,  which  fell  cutting  through  the 
bed-room  in  which  Ken  was  lodged,  without  touching  his 
person  ;  but  rushing  on  upon  Wells,  it  hurled  another 
stack  throitgh  the  chamber  of  the  bishop  who  had  sup- 
planted Ken,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot.  Strange 
thoughts  would  perplex  some  minds  as  to  the  meaning  of 
this  variety  of  action  by  the  same  storm  ;  but  whatever  we 
may  think,  it  may  be  that  we  owe  much  of  the  spirit  and 
power  of  Ken's  midnight  hymn  to  the  effects  of  that  pre- 
serving presence  which  was  manifest  in  his  case.  With 
what  swelling  feeling  would  he  ever  after  sing  in  his 
night-watch  : — 

My  God,  now  I  from  sleep  awake. 

The  sole  possession  of  me  take  ; 

From  midnight  terrors  me  secure, 

And  guard  my  heart  from  thoughts  impure  ! 

Bless' d  angels,  while  we  silent  lie, 
Tour  hallelujahs  sing  on  liigh  ; 
Tou  joyful  hymn  the  Ever-blest, 
Before  the  throne,  and  never  rest. 


268  HTM:N--V\rRITERS  AXD  THEIR  HTMJTS. 

I,  with  your  choir  celestial  join 
In  offering-  up  a  hymn  divine  ; 
With  you  in  heaven  I  hope  to  dwell, 
And  bid  the  night  and  world  farewell. 

My  soul,  when  I  shake  off  this  dust, 
Lord,  in  Thy  arms  I  will  entrust : 
Oh  make  me  Thy  peculiar  care  ; 
Some  mansion  for  my  soul  prepare  ! 

Give  me  a  place  at  Thy  saints'  feet, 
Or  some  fall'n  angel's  vacant  seat ; 
I'll  strive  to  sing  as  loud  as  they 
Who  sit  above  in  brighter  day. 

Oh  may  I  always  ready  stand, 
With  my  lamp  bviming  in  my  hand  ; 
May  I  in  sight  of  heaven  rejoice 
Whene'er  I  hear  the  Bridegroom's  voice ! 

All  praise  to  Thee,  in  light  arrayed, 
Who  light  Thy  dwelling-place  hast  made  ; 
A  boundless  ocean  of  bright  beams 
From  Thy  aU-glorious  Godhead  streams. 

The  sun  in  its  meridian  height 

Is  very  darkness  in  Thy  sight ; 

My  soul,  oh,  lighten  and  inflame 

With  thought  and  love  of  Thy  great  name. 

Bless' d  Jesu,  Thou,  on  heaven  intent, 
Whole  nights  hast  in  devotion  spent ; 
But  I,  frail  creature,  soon  am  tired. 
And  all  my  zeal  is  soon  expired. 

My  soul,  how  canst  thou  weary  grow 
Of  antedating  bliss  below  ? 
In  sacred  hymns,  and  heavenly  love, 
Which  will  eternal  be  above  ? 

Shine  on  me.  Lord,  new  life  impart. 
Fresh  ardours  kindle  in  my  heart ; 
One  ray  of  Thy  all-quickening  light 
Dispels  the  sloth  and  clouds  of  night. 

Lord,  lest  the  tempter  me  surprise, 
Watch  over  Thine  own  sacrifice ; 
All  loose,  all  idle  thoughts  cast  out, 
And  make  my  very  dreams  devout. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  aU  blessings  flow  ; 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below  ; 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host ; 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT.  269 

Heaven  has  watched  over  many  a  night- watcher  besides 
Bishop  Ken.  It  is  now  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago  that  a 
poor  girl  in  Ipswich  lost  her  father,  and  her  mother  being 
left  with  a  large  family  unprovided  for,  she,  at  the  age  of 
sixteen,  went  out  into  domestic  service.  There,  however, 
she  was  seized  with  a  complicated  disorder,  which  baffled 
all  medical  skill,  and  shut  her  up  to  a  life  of  suffering. 
But  her  affliction  was  hallowed  to  her.  Christ  revealed 
Himself  as  her  Saviour,  and  became  her  Divine  companion. 
She  taught  herself  to  write,  and  then  solaced  herself  during 
the  weary  days  and  nights  of  languishing  by  composing 
hymns  and  psalms.  Her  songs  were  worthy  of  notice,  and 
were  published  by  her  friends  as  "  Songs  in  the  Night." 
Her  genius  and  j)iety,  spirit  and  exj)ression,  are  fairly 
given  in  an  acrostic  which  reveals  her  name  : — 

S  hall  I  presume  to  tell  the  world  my  name  ? 

TJ  p  to  this  hour  I  glory  in  my  shame : 

S  o  great  my  weakness,  that  I  boast  of  might, 

A  fool  in  knowledge,  yet  in  wisdom  right ; 

N  o  life,  and  yet  I  live  ;  I'm  sick,  and  well ; 

N  ot  far  from  heaven,  though  on  the  brink  of  hell, 

A  nd  words  and  oaths,  and  blood,  delight  me  well. 

H  ow  strange  !     I'm  deaf,  and  dimib,  and  lame,  and  blind, 

A  nd  hear,  and  see,  and  walk,  and  talk,  you  find. 

R  obbed  by  my  dearest  friend,  I'm  truly  poor, 

E,  iches  immense  I  always  have  in  store. 

I  'm  fed  by  mortals ;  but  let  mortals  know 

S  uch  is  my  food,  no  mortal  can  bestow. 

O  h,  how  I  long  to  die,  and  wish  to  live ! 

N  ow,  if  you  can,  explain  th'  account  I  give. 

Her  songs  are  approjoriately  entitled  "Songs  iu  the 
Night."  Mere  circumstances  were  aU  dark  around  her  ; 
but  there  was  undying  light  in  her  soul,  and  her  hymns 
breathe  a  reverent  cheerfulness,  a  placid  resignation,  and 
a  comfortable  hope.  Her  genius  was  uncultiu-ed,  but  in 
sentiment,  diction,  and  musical  tone,  many  of  her  hymns 
are  worthy  of  being  closet  companions  with  the  night  songs 
of  hymnists  bearing  far  more  distinguished  names.  The 
poor  sufferer  used  to  sing  as  night  came  on : — 

God  of  my  days,  God  of  my  nights, 
Source  of  my  soul's  supreme  delights. 
Come,  manifest  Thy  love  to  me. 
And  let  me  close  this  day  with  Thee. 


270  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS, 

Nearness  to  Christ  I  fain  would  find, 
Oh  let  not  distance  vex  my  mind  ; 
I  long  to  know  my  sins  forgiven, 
To  converse  with  the  God  of  heaven. 

Send,  Source  of  Light,  some  cheering  ray, 
To  turn  my  darkness  into  day  ; 
I  mourn,  and  think  Thy  absence  long, 
Oh  listen  to  my  evening  song. 

Command  my  blindness  to  depart, 
Still  keep  me  from  a  careless  heart ; 
Lord,  captivate  each  vain  desire, 
And  raise  these  vile  affections  higher. 

Oh  let  the  mercies  of  this  day 
Teach  me  to  praise  as  well  as  pray  : 
Now  take,  my  soul,  on  Jesu's  breast, 
Thy  sweetest,  safest,  surest  rest ! 

In  her  last  hours  she  "u^as  truly  "  compassed  about  with 
songs  of  deliverance."  "  I  have  not  sung  for  some  time," 
she  said.  "Sing  with  me;  it  will  not  hurt  me.  Sing 
Dr.  Watts' s  hymn  : — 

How  sweet  and  awful  is  the  place, 

With  Christ  within  the  doors  ; 
While  everlasting  love  displays 

The  choicest  of  her  stores." 

The  hymn  was  softly  sung  by  her  friends  ;  and  then  she 
added,  "  Let  us  sing  again"  :  — 

Come,  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs 

With  angels  roiind  the  throne  ; 
Ten  thousand  thousand  are  their  tongues, 

But  all  their  joys  are  one. 

Worthy  the  Lamb  that  died,  they  cry. 

To  be  exalted  thus ; 
Worthy  the  Lamb,  our  lips  reply. 

For  He  was  slain  for  us. 

Jesus  is  worthy  to  receive 

Honour  and  power  divine  ; 
And  blessings  more  than  we  can  give, 

Be,  Lord,  for  ever  Thine. 

Nobody  seemed  able  to  sing  with  her.     Her  voice  was 
like  something  more  than  human,  and  she  waved  her  arm 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT.  271 

exxiltingly,  as  she  sang.  "You  do  not  sing  -svitli  me," 
she  said;  "  well,  I  cannot  forbear."  Then  she  continued 
nearly  the  whole  night  warbling  softly,  though  at  times 
apparently  dying.  Her  last  night  was  full  of  song  ;  and 
just  before  she  took  her  iipward  flight,  she  pointed  heaven- 
ward, and  said,  "  I  cannot  talk,  but  I  shall  soon  sing 
there r 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

MARRIAGE  SONGS  ANB  BIRTEBAY  EJMNS. 

"  And  both  Jesus  was  called,  and  his  disciples,  to  the  marriage." 

It  is  said  of  Solomon  that  "  his  songs  were  a  thousand 
and  five."  One  of  this  number  occupies  a  distinguished 
place  in  the  sacred  canon,  and  is  caUed  "The  Song  of 
Songs,  which  is  Solomon's,"  or  "  the  most  beautiful  or 
excellent  of  his  songs."  It  was  written  a  thousand  years 
before  Christ — long  before  the  earliest  profane  poets  whose 
works  are  extant;  but  the  freshness  of  its  unrivalled 
beauty  has  remained  through  all  the  changes  of  time  and 
manners,  while  its  charms  continue  to  exert  their  power 
under  all  the  disadvantages  of  incompetent  translation. 
It  may  be  called  a  pastoral,  in  which  two  leading  characters 
are  represented  as  speaking  and  acting  throughout  the 
poem.  The  one  is  a  king  called  Shelomoh,  "  The  peaceful, 
or  Prince  of  Peace,"  the  other  a  female,  who  from  being  a 
rustic  shepherdess  becomes  his  queen ;  she  bears  the 
name  of  Shelomith,  which  is  simply  the  feminine  form 
of  Shelomoh.  Whether  this  poem  was  written  by 
Solomon  on  the  occasion  of  his  own  marriage  or  not, 
it  seems  to  stand  among  the  oracles  of  inspiration  as  a 
seal  of  divine  approbation  on  the  institution  of  marriage, 
or  as  the  fixed  light  of  God's  smile  upon  the  fervid  but 
modest  and  delicate  affection  of  conjugal  life.  Both 
ancients  and  moderns,  Jews  and  Christians,  have  agreed 
that  under  its  face  of  poetic  beauty  an  allegorical  meaning 
is  hid,  for  the  instruction  and  solace  of  the  teachable,  chaste, 
and  believing  soid.  Indeed,  we  cannot  conceive  that  Ezra, 
a  man  under  divine  inspiration,  and  the  members  of  the 


MAERIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  273 

great  synagogue,  or  those  who  assisted  in  collecting  the 
sacred  writings,  would  have  admitted  this  song  into  the 
sacred  canon  if  they  had  not  a  full  conviction  that  under 
its  mysterious  and  luxuriant  imagery  there  lay  concealed 
some  great  truths  bearing  on  the  interests  of  God's 
kingdom  and  people.  It  is  an  Oriental  book,  written  bj^ 
a  highly  poetical  Eastern  monarch,  intended,  in  the  first 
place,  for  an  Oriental  people  such  as  seven-eighths  of  the 
human  race  liave  been,  and  such  as  form  one-half  of  the 
present  jDopulation  of  the  earth.  The  book  should  there- 
fore be  interpreted  in  accordance  with  Eastern  manners 
and  rules  of  composition.  It  has  always  been  the  universal 
custom  in  the  East  to  represent  spiritual  things  under  such 
figures  as  are  beautifully  sketched  in  the  Song  of  Solomon. 
Numerous  examples  might  be  quoted  from  mere  heathen 
authorities  ;  but  the  Bible  is  full  of  them.  David,  Isaiah, 
Jeremiah,  the  evangelists,  apostles,  and  our  Lord  Himself, 
all  speak  of  the  intercourse  of  the  divine  and  the  human 
under  the  imagery  of  marriage  feasts  and  conjugal  com- 
munion. And  in  this  light  the  Song  of  Solomon  has  always 
been  viewed,  both  by  Jews  and  Christians.  The  Jews  ex- 
plained it  as  a  song  of  Jehovah's  love  for  the  synagogue  ; 
the  Christians,  as  celebrating  the  union  of  Christ  and  His 
Church.  Both  have  agreed,  however,  that  the  spirit  and 
design  of  the  book  can  be  realized  by  none  but  the  chaste 
and  devotional  mind.  The  Jews  denied  it  to  the  weak  and 
the  profane,  as  too  strong  for  the  one,  and  too  holy  for  the 
other.  They  have  always  guarded  and  honoured  it  not 
only  as  holy,  but  as  they  say,  "the  Holy  of  holies"; 
and  have  ever  used  it  as  an  incentive  to  holy  thought  and 
intense  devotion.  While  the  Christians,  who  have  con- 
sulted it  as  the  expression  of  Christ's  love  to  the  community 
of  the  faithful,  have  ever  found  in  it  a  refreshing  sweetness 
and  power,  leading  them,  as  it  does,  to  meditate  on  tie 
mutual  afi'ection  of  the  Redeemer  and  His  people,  a;^  sociated 
with  trials  and  vicissitudes  in  this  hfe,  but  promising  per- 
fect fruition  and  repose  in  the  world  to  come.  This  may 
be  illustrated  by  one  passage  from  a  personal  history. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  friend,  is  that  you  ?"  said  a  kind-hearted 
and  intelligent  Polish  Jew,  as  he  affectionately  took  the 
hand  of  a  Methodist  preacher,  who  had  taken  his  seat  by 
the  side  of  his  sick-bed.     The  two  had  known  each  other 


274  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

in  earlier  life,  and  had  learnt  to  "love  one  another," 
distinct  as  they  were  in  creed  as  well  as  by  birth.  After 
some  years  of  separation,  the  Gentile  had  found  out  his 
Jewish  brother  and  first  Hebrew  teacher,  in  his  affliction  ; 
and  now  once  more  they  were  heart  to  heart,  and  entered 
into  communion  about  the  sacred  text  which  they  had  at 
one  time  so  lovingly  studied  together.  The  Jew  was 
gentle,  tender,  and  open  as  a  child,  and  freely  told  out  his 
hope  in  the  mercy  of  that  God  who  had  been  pleased,  as 
he  said,  "  to  put  the  innocent  for  the  uninnocent,  that  the 
sinner,  who  was  jienitent  over  the  sacrifice,  and  trvisted 
there,  might  be  saved."  And  then  he  talked  about  divine 
love,  how  it  begat  love  in  us  ;  what  a  comfort  it  was  to 
him ;  how  it  helped  him  in  his  sickness ;  and  how  it 
disposed  him  to  love  everybody  around  him.  The  holy  texts 
from  his  Hebrew  Bible  "  ca,me  bubbling  up  in  his  mind," 
he  said,  "  and  there  were  no  words  which  seemed  to  speak 
the  feelings  of  his  heart  so  happily  as  some  of  the  words 
in  Solomon's  Song." 

"  Somebody  said  to  me,  the  other  day,"  he  remarked, 
'  What  is  the  use  of  Solomon's  Song  ?  I  cannot  understand 
it ;  I  think  it  had  better  be  left  out  of  the  book  ! '  Oh,  I 
was  grieved  ;  and  I  said,  that  is  wicked.  No  !  you  do  not 
see  the  use  of  that  blessed  book  !  how  can  you  ?  You  do 
not  understand  it.  How  should  you  ?  Those  who  do  not 
love  the  truth  cannot  see  the  use  of  it,  or  understand  it. 
You  are  not  a  spiritual  man  ;  and  you  do  not  see.  There 
now  is  my  box,  poor  looking  box  to  you.  What  is  the 
use  of  it  ?  you  may  say,  it  might  as  well  be  thrown 
away.  Ah !  it  is  locked  !  you  do  not  see  what  is  in  it ! 
nor  can  you  tell  what  is  the  value  or  the  beauty  of 
the  jewels  that  are  there.  But  if  I  give  you  the  key,  and 
you  open  it,  then  you  may  be  able  to  talk  about  the  box, 
for  you  will  see  and  know  all  that  is  in  it.  So  you  have 
no  key  to  Solomon's  Song  ;  none  but  spiritual  men  have  a 
key  to  it !" 

And  so  the  afflicted  Hebrew  talked.  He  might  have 
communed,  one  would  think,  with  that  disciple  of  Gamaliel 
who  says,  "The  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  things  of 
the  Spirit  of  God,  for  they  are  foolishness  to  him  ;  neither 
can  he  know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned. 
But  he  that  is  spiritual  judgeth  all  things."     Nor  coidd 


MARRIiftjE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  275 

his  Methodist  friend  help  thinking,  at  the  moment,  of 
Charles  Wesley's  metrical  introduction  to  Solomon's  Song. 
There  was  something  so  remarkably  akin  in  the  pure 
simplicity  of  the  poor  Hebrew's  thoughts  and  those  of  the 
Methodist  poet.  Wesley  expresses  what  the  Jew  thought 
and  felt,  with  becoming  purity  and  spirit,  and  in  a  pleasant 
hymnic  form,  thus  : — 

Hence,  ye  profane  ;  far  off  remove, 
Te  strangers  to  redeeming  love  ; 
Sinners,  whom  Jesus  never  knew. 
The  Song  of  Songs  is  not  for  you  ! 
Away,  ye  worldly  goats  and  swine, 
"Who  trample  on  this  pearl  divine, 
Wliich  only  wisdom's  sons  esteem. 
While  fools  and  infidels  blaspheme. 

With  deepest  shame,  with  humblest  fear, 
T  to  Thine  oracle  draw  near. 
To  meet  Thee  in  the  holiest  place, 
To  learn  the  secret  of  Thy  grace. 
Now.  Lord,  explain  the  mystery. 
Display  Thy  precious  self  to  me, 
And  when  Thou  dost  the  veil  remove, 
My  heart  shall  sing  the  song  of  love. 

Thou  heavenly  Solomon  divine, 
To  teach  the  Song  of  Songs  is  Thine  ; 
Thy  Spirit  alone  the  depth  reveals. 
Opens  the  book,  and  breaks  the  seals  : 
Oh  might  I  find  the  bar  removed. 
And  love  the  Lord  as  I  am  loved. 
This  moment  gain  my  heart's  desire, 
The  next  within  Thine  arms  expire  ! 

The  Jew  kindled  with  his  theme,  and  with  that 
charming  intonation  which  is  natural  to  the  children 
of  the  synagogue,  he  gave  voice  to  his  loving  heart  in 
a  succession  of  stanzas  from  the  "Song  of  Songs."  He 
repeated  again  and  again  with  growing  warmth,  and  with 
a  music  of  expression  that  seemed  like  the  voice  of  love 
itself,  "  Tell  me,  0  Thou  whom  my  soul  loveth,  where  Thou 
feedest,  where  Thou  makest  Thy  flock  to  rest  at  noon !  " 
The  afflicted  child  of  Abraliam  had  wandered  long  among 
strangers,  and.  was  now  longing  for  rest  with  the  Great 
Shepherd  to  whom  his  fathers  had  been  gathered.  By 
a  Methodist,  such  as  his  friend  and  visitor  was,  Charles 
Wesley    was,    of    course,    thought   of   again,    and    that 


276  HYMN-"WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYI^NS. 

tender,  glowing  paraphrase  of  Solomon's  stanza  came, 
as  the  Jew  who  had  quoted  it  said,  "bubbling  up  in  the 
mind  " :— 

Thou  Shepherd  of  Israel  and  mine, 

The  joy  and  desire  of  my  heart, 
For  closer  communion  I  pine, 

I  long  to  reside  where  Thou  art : 
The  pasture  I  languish  to  find. 

Where  all,  who  their  Shepherd  obey, 
Are  fed  on  Thy  bosom  reclined, 

And  screen'dfrom  the  heat  of  the  day. 

Ah  !  show  me  that  happiest  place. 

The  place  of  Thy  people's  abode. 
Where  saints  in  an  ecstasy  gaze. 

And  hang  on  a  crucified  God. 
Thy  love  for  a  sinner  declare, 

Thy  passion  and  death  on  the  tree  : 
My  spirit  to  Calvary  bear. 

To  suffer  and  triumph  with  Thee. 

'Tis  there,  with  the  lambs  of  Thy  flock. 

There  only  I  covet  to  rest. 
To  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  rock. 

Or  rise  to  lie  hid  in  Thy  breast : 
'Tis  there  I  would  always  abide, 

And  never  a  moment  depart ; 
Conceal"  d  in  the  cleft  of  Thy  side, 

Eternally  held  in  Thy  heart. 

"Do  you  think  that  the  '  Song  of  Songs  '  was  written  by 
Solomon  on  the  occasion  of  his  own  marriage?  "  said  the 
Gentile  visitor  to  the  Jewish  patient. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  opinion.  I  think  God  has  given  it  to 
us  as  a  marriage  song,  to  show  that  marriage  is  His  own 
arrangement  and  ordinance  for  our  comfort,  and  the  purity 
and  happiness  of  the  world.  But  it  means  something  more 
than  that ;  it  is  a  song  of  love  between  the  Messiah  and 
His  people.  Ah  !  that  is  a  mysterious  love  ;  but  it  is  sweet, 
and  he  only  who  enjoys  it  deeply  can  sing  Solomon's  Song 
as  it  was  intended  to  be  sung." 

In  hearing  this  from  a  Jew,  who  would  not  think  of 
one,  in  earlier  times,  who  was  trained  a  Pharisee,  but  be- 
coming, like  the  suffering  Polish  wanderer,  a  truly  spiritual 
man,  uttered  kindred  thoughts ?  "Husbands,  love  your 
wives,  even  as  Christ  also  loved  the  Church,  and  gave 
Himself  for  it ;  that   He  might  sanctify   and   cleansd   it 


MARRIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  277 

■with  the  washing  of  water  by  the  Word,  that  He  might 
present  it  to  Himself  a  glorious  Church,  not  having  spot, 
or  wrinkle,  or  any  snch  thing ;  but  that  it  should  be  holy 
and  without  blemish.  So  ought  men  to  love  their  wives  as 
their  own  bodies.  He  that  loveth  his  wife  lo-veth  himself. 
For  no  man  ever  yet  hated  his  own  flesh  ;  but  nourisheth 
and  cherisheth  it,  even  as  the  Lord  the  Church  ;  fnr  we  are 
members  of  His  body,  of  His  flesh,  and  of  His  bones. 
For  this  cause  shall  a  man  leave  his  father  and  mother,  and 
shall  be  joined  unto  his  wife,  and  they  two  shall  be  one 
flesh.  This  a  great  mystery :  but  I  speak  concerning 
Christ  and  the  Church." 

If,  then,  Solomon's  Song  is  an  inspired  marriage  song, 
having  under  its  beautiful  surface  a  spiritual  allusion  to  a 
still  deeper  mystery  of  love,  marriage  songs  are  not  \inac- 
ceptable  to  God,  nor  can  they  be  out  of  place  at  a  wedding- 
feast.  They  should,  however,  emulate  the  spirit  and  tone 
of  the  inspired  exemplar ;  and  the  hymnist  who  so  hap- 
pily introduces  Solomon's  divine  pastoral,  and  who  has 
left  us  so  many  sweet  little  hymnic  paraphrases  of  favourite 
passages  from  the  "  Song  of  Songs,"  has  furnished  an 
appropriate  song  for  the  bridal  morn.  One  who  so  deeply 
enjoyed  the  chaste  pleasures  of  conjugal  life,  and  whose 
soul  was  so  full  of  hymn  and  song,  would  certainly  aid  the 
newly-married  pair  with  forms  of  devout  expression.  Here 
is  one  of  his  marriage  hymns  : — 

Thou  God  of  truth  and  love, 

We  seek  Thy  perfect  way. 
Ready  Thy  choice  to  approve, 

Thy  Providence  to  obey  ; 
Enter  into  Thy  wise  design, 
And  sweetly  lose  our  will  in  Thine. 

Why  hast  Thou  cast  our  lot 

In  the  same  age  and  place  ? 
And  why  together  brought 

To  see  each  other's  face? 
To  join  with  softest  sympathy, 
And  mix  our  friendly  so'ils  with  Thee  ? 

Didst  Thou  not  make  us  one, 

That  we  might  one  remain, 
Together  travel  on. 

And  bear  each  other's  pain; 
Till  all  Thy  utmost  goodness  prove. 
And  rise  renew' d  in  perfect  love  ? 


278  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Surely  Thou  didst  unite 

Our  kindred  spirits  here, 
That  all  hereafter  might 

Before  Thy  throne  appear ; 
Meet  at  the  marriage  of  the  Lamb, 
And  all  Thy  glorious  love  proclaim. 

Then  let  us  ever  bear 

The  blessed  end  in  view, 
And  join,  with  mutual  care. 

To  fight  oixr  passage  through ; 
And  kindly  help  each  other  on. 
Till  all  receive  the  starry  crown. 

Oh  may  the  Spirit  seal 

Our  souls  unto  that  day. 
With  all  Thy  fulness  fill, 

And  then  transport  away  ! 
Away  to  our  eternal  rest, 
Away  to  our  Redeemer's  breast ! 

Old  George  Withers  would  make  marriage  songs  as 
a  matter  of  course ;  for  he  made  songs  and  hymns  about 
everything,  for  all  times,  all  ci^nditions,  and  all  circum- 
stances. His  "  Halleluiah  "  is  fall  of  psalms  for  days  of 
every  name  and  shade,  and  for  every  part  of  every  day; 
for  nights  starry  and  nights  dark,  for  sea  and  for  land,  for 
storm  and  for  calm,  for  battle  and  for  peace.  He  has 
hymns  for  all  seasons;  for  woi'kers,  for  idlers,  for  kinsfolk, 
for  strangers,  for  the  bond  and  tlie  free,  for  plenty  and  for 
famine,  for  kings  and  for  people,  for  pastors  and  for  flocks, 
for  seed-time  and  for  harvest,  for  saints  and  for  sinners, 
for  young  and  for  old,  for  every  place,  for  every  calling, 
for  all  til e  world,  and  for  "  himself."  His  marriage  song 
must  have  a  choir  in  advance  and  a  choir  in  the  rear.  He 
teaches  us  to  hymn  it  over  a  marriage-contract.  "This 
hymn,"  says  he,  "is  tendered  to  those  who  purpose  a 
contract  of  marriage,  in  hope  it  may  so  remember  them  to 
consider  what  they  intend  that  it  shall  keep  them  from 
proceeding  farther  than  they  lawful  may,  and  from 
professing  more  than  they  mean.  Sing  this,"  he  adds,  "  as 
Te  Deum^^ :  — 

Lord !  in  Thy  name,  and  in  Thy  fear 

Our  faith  we  plighted  have  ; 
And  that  our  meanings  are  sincere. 

Thy  witness  now  we  crave. 


MARRIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  279 

We  come  not  only  to  repeat 

Our  vows  before  Thy  face, 
But  that  we  may  likewise  entreat 

Thy  favour  aud  Thy  grace. 

For  mutual  helpers  while  we  live, 

According  to  our  might ; 
Ourselves  we  to  each  other  give. 

So  far  as  we  have  right ; 
And  we  profess  that  free  we  are, 

For  aught  that  we  do  know, 
To  be  each  other's  wedded  pair, 

If  Thou  permit  it  so. 

"We  see  no  contradicting  cause, 

But  that  we  may  be  joined, 
Without  infringement  of  the  laws 

Whereby  we  are  confined. 
Nor  any  such  infirmity 

In  us  do  we  suspect 
As  that  our  marriage  bond  thereby 

Shall  prove  of  no  effect. 

We  have  no  guileful  dealings  med, 

Our  purpose  to  acquire. 
Nor  one  another's  trust  abused, 

To  gain  what  we  desire. 
But  our  affections  are  sincere. 

And  as  they  have  been  true, 
Upright  those  courses  likewise  are. 

By  which  we  them  pursue. 

If  both  have  now,  0  Lord,  professed 

What  may  not  be  denif  d  ; 
Let  our  affections  so  be  blest 

That  nothing  us  divide. 
Let  not  by  beauty,  wit,  or  wealth, 

By  high  or  low  degree, 
By  want  of  riches  or  of  health 

Our  hearts  estranged  be. 

But  if  that  either  of  us  now 

Hath  trod  a  faithless  way, 
Or  shall  infringe  this  holy  vow 

Before  our  wedding  day  : 
Lord  !  let  the  party  innocent, 

From  blame  and  guilt  be  free ; 
For  truth  a  contract  never  meant, 

Where  naught  but  falsehoods  be. 

Then  out  of  liis  full  soul  the  quaint  but  musical   and 
happj  liy mnist  pours  forth  a  song  for  the  marriage,  telling 


280  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIE  HYMNS. 

US  that  "God  is  hereby  besought  to  bless  the  marriage 
solemnized  to  all  there  present,  and  so  to  prosper  the 
bridegroom  and  bride  in  their  desires  and  afi'ections, 
that  the  waters  of  their  carnal  contentment  may  be  tui'ned 
into  the  wine  of  spiritual  delights"  : — 

To  grace,  0  Lord !  a  marriage  feast 

In  Cana,  long  ago, 
It  pleased  Thee  to  be  a  guest, 

And  there  Thy  power  to  show; 
For  by  a  miracle  divine, 

Wlien  they  their  wine  had  spent, 
Thou  changedst  water  into  wine, 

Which  did  their  want  prevent. 

Lord !  let  the  brightness  of  Thy  face 

Among  us  now  appear ; 
So  let  the  bounties  of  Thy  grace 

Be  manifested  here  : 
That  neither  bridegroom,  bride,  nor  guest, 

In  body  or  in  mind. 
Of  less  content  may  be  possess' d, 

Than  they  have  hope  to  find. 

All  joys  which  in  a  married  life, 

Well  matched  couples  know, 
On  this  new  wedded  man  and  wife 

Vouchsafe  Thou  to  bestow; 
Fulfil  their  hopes,  prevent  their  fears, 

Grant  them  their  just  desires  ; 
Increase  that  love  which  keeps  off  cares, 

And  warms  with  lawful  fires. 

To  wine  those  heartless  waters  turn 

Which  in  their  vessels  be  ; 
To  give  them  comfort  when  they  mourn, 

And  make  them  glad  in  Thee. 
And  though  the  pleasures  of  their  love 

Have  yet  a  pleasing  taste, 
Yet  let  them  daily  sweeter  prove, 

And  best  of  all  at  last. 

The  dear  old  hymnist  seems  to  have  had  contentment  iii 
marriage,  and  is  willing  that  all  who  are  blessed  with  like 
satisfaction  in  matrimonial  life  should  never  lack  the  means 
of  expressing  their  settled  pleasure  in  devout  and  cheerful 
psalmody;  and  he  introduces  his  hymn  "for  one  con- 
tentedly married"  by  insinuating  some  very  salutary 
lessons  to  parties  concerned.  "The  intent  of  this  ode," 
he  says,  "  is  to  show  that  our  natural  affections  are  never 


MATSEIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIKTH-DAY  HYMNS.  281 

fully  satisfied  in  tlie  choice  of  our  helpers,  until  God  bring 
man  and  wife  together  by,  as  it  were,  making-  the  one  out 
of  the  other  through  a  frequent  conversing  together,  and 
by  observing  and  approving  each  other's  condition,  which  is 
never  done  till  those  passions  are  cast  into  a  sleep  which 
make  them  dote  on  wealth,  honour,  beauty,  and  such  unfit 
marriage  makers" : — 

Since  they  in  singing  take  delight 

Who  in  their  love  unhappy  be, 
Why  should  not  I  in  song  delight 

Who  from  their  sorrow  now  are  free  ? 
That  such  as  can  believe  may  know 
What  comforts  are  on  earth  below, 
And  prove  what  blessings  may  be  won 
By  loving  so  as  I  have  done. 

When  first  affection  warmed  my  blood, 

Which  was  ere  wit  could  rii^eu'd  be, 
And  ere  I  fully  understood 

What  fire  it  was  that  warmed  me  ; 
My  youthful  heat  a  love  begat, 
That  love  did  love  I  know  not  what ; 
But  this  I  know,  I  felt  more  pains 
Than  many  a  broken  heart  sustains. 

When  years  informed  me  how  to  see 

What  had  such  wandering  passions  wroiight. 

The  more  my  knowledge  gi-ew  to  be. 
The  greater  torments  still  it  brought ; 

Then  sought  I  means  to  cure  love's  wound. 

The  more  I  sought,  less  ease  I  found ; 

And  milder  pangs  than  I  have  had. 

Make  many  lovers  sick  and  mad. 

I  have  a  deep-indented  heart, 

Wliich  no  content  would  let  me  find. 
Until  her  proper  counterpart 

Should  thereunto  be  firmly  joined  ; 
Ere  far  I  sought  or  searched  much, 
I  many  found  who  seemed  such. 
But  them  when  I  did  nearly  view 
Not  one  in  heart  was  fully  true. 

Alas  !  thought  I,  to  what  I  seek 

Why  should  so  many  draw  so  near, 
And  at  the  last  prove  nothing  like 

To  what  at  first  they  did  appear  ? 
So  much  why  do  so  many  please, 
Since  I  was  made  for  none  of  these  ? 
And  why  in  show  have  I  been  one, 
Beloved  much,  yet  loved  of  none  ? 


282  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMN?. 

Could  wealtli  have  bought  my  marriage  bed, 

Or  honour  brought  me  true  delight, 
I  could  these  ways  have  better  sped 

Than  many  do  believe  I  might ; 
Nay,  beauty,  though  none  loves  it  more, 
Nor  proffer"  d  loves  though  I  had  store, 
Could  make  me  think  now  found  is  she 
That  proves  a  helper  fit  for  me. 

Nor  ease  nor  pleasure  could  I  find 
In  beauty,  honour,  love,  or  pelf  ; 
Nor  means  to  gain  a  settled  mind. 
Till  I  had  found  my  second  self  ; 
Thus  till  our  grand-dame  Eve  was  made, 
No  helper  our  first  parent  had  ; 
"Which  proves  a  wife  in  value  more 
Than  all  the  creatures  made  before. 

Half  tired  in  seeking  what  I  sought 

I  fell'  into  a  sleep  at  last ; 
And  God  for  me  my  wishes  wrought, 

When  hope  of  them  were  almost  past ; 
"With  Adam  I  this  favour  had. 
That  out  of  me  my  wife  was  made. 
And  when  I  waked  I  espied 
That  God  for  me  had  found  a  bride. 

How  He  this  riddle  brought  to  pass, 
This  curious  world  shall  never  hear  ! 

A  secret  work  of  His  it  was, 
Ivor  fit  for  ev'ry  v-ulgar  ear  : 

Out  of  each  other  formed  were  we, 

Within  a  third  our  beings  be  ; 

And  our  well-being  was  begun, 

By  being  in  ourselves  undone. 

I  have  the  heig'ht  of  my  desii-e, 

In  secret  no  dislike  I  find  ; 
Love  warms  me  with  a  kindly  fire, 

No  jealous  pangs  torment  my  mind  : 
I  breathe  no  sigh,  I  make  no  moan. 
As  others  do,  and  I  have  done  ; 
Nor  do  I  mark,  nor  do  I  care, 
How  fair  or  lovely  others  are. 

My  heart  at  quiet  lets  me  lie. 

And  moves  no  passion  in  my  breast ; 
Nor  tempting  tongue,  nor  speaking  eye, 

Nor  smiling  lip,  can  break  my  rest ; 
The  peer  I  sought  by  me  is  f  ovmd. 
My  earthly  hopes  by  thee  are  crown'd  ; 
And  I  in  one  all  pleasures  find, 
That  may  be  found  in  womai;kind. 


MAREIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  283 

Each  hath  of  other  like  esteem, 

Aud  what  that  is  we  need  not  tell ; 
For  we  are  one  thoug'h  two  we  seem, 

And  in  each  other's  hearts  we  dwell : 
There  dwells  He  two  embracing  thus 
By  whom  we  were  endeared  thus  ; 
He  makes  lis  rich,  though  seeming  poor, 
And  when  we  want  will  give  us  more. 

Lord !  let  our  love  in  Thee  begun, 

In  Thee,  likewise,  continuance  have  ; 
And  if  Thy  will  may  so  be  done. 

Together  lodge  us  in  one  grave  ; 
Then  on  the  Lamb' s  great  wedding-day 
Raise  us  together  from  the  clay  ; 
And  where  the  Bridegroom  doth  remain 
Let  us  both  live  and  love  again. 

Another  of  this  prolific  poet's  songs  is  "  a  hymn  for  house- 
warming."  "The  ancient  and  laudable  use  of  house- 
warmings  is  here  insinuated,"  as  he  says,  "  for  in  this 
hymn  the  friends  assembled  are  taught  to  beseech  God 
Almighty  to  make  that  habitation  prosperous  and  comfort- 
able to  them  and  theirs,  who  are  newly  come  thither  to 
dwell"  :— 

Among  those  points  of  neighbourhood 
"Which  oui'  forefathers  did  allow, 

That  custom  in  esteem  hath  stood 
Which  we  do  put  in  practice  now. 

For  when  their  friends  new  dwellings  had, 

Them  thus  they  welcome  thither  made  ; 

That  they  the  sooner  might  be  free 

From  strangeness,  where  they  strangers  be. 

To  this  good  end  we  partly  came, 

And  partly  friendship  to  augment ; 
But  if  we  fail  not  in  the  same. 

This  is  the  prime  of  our  intent. 
We  come  with  holy  charms  to  bless 
The  house  our  friends  do  now  p  issess  ; 
In  hope  that  God  amen  will  say. 
To  that  for  which  we  now  shall  pray. 

Lord !  keep  this  place,  we  Thee  desire, 

To  these  new  comers  ever  free. 
From  raging  winds,  from  harmful  fire, 

From  waters  that  offensive  be  ; 
From  graceless  child,  from  servants  ill, 
From  neighbours  bearing  no  good  will : 
And  from  the  chiefest  plague  of  life, 
A  husband  false,  a  faithless  wife. 


'284  HYMlSr-WIlITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Let  neither  thieves  that  rove  by  night, 

Nor  those  that  sneak  about  by  day, 
Have  i^ower  their  persons  to  afti-ight, 

Or  to  purloin  their  goods  away. 
Let  nothing  here  be  seen  or  heard 
To  make  by  day  or  night  afear'd ; 
No  sndden  cries,  no  fearful  noise. 
No  vision  grim  nor  dreadful  voice. 

Let  on  this  house  no  curse  remain, 

If  any  on  the  same  is  laid ; 
Let  no  imposture  power  obtain 

To  make  the  meanest  wit  afraid. 
Let  here  nor  Zim  nor  Dim  be  seen, 
The  fabled  fairy  king  or  queen  ; 
Nor  such  delusions  as  are  said 
To  make  the  former  age  afraid. 

Keep  also,  Lord,  we  pray,  from  hence 

As  much  as  frailty  will  allow  ; 
The  guiltiness  of  each  offence, 

Which  to  a  crying  sin  may  grow. 
Let  no  more  want,  wealth,  hope,  or  fear, 
Nor  greater  griefs  nor  joys  be  here  ; 
Thou  may  still  keep  them  in  Thy  grace, 
Who  shall  be  dwellers  in  this  place. 

But  that  just  measure  let  them  have 

Of  every  means  which  may  acquire, 
The  blessedness  which  they  most  crave, 

Who  to  the  truest  bliss  aspire. 
And  if  well-wishers  absent  be. 
Who  better  wish  them  can  than  we, 
To  make  this  blessing  up  entire. 
We  thereto  add  what  they  desire. 

The  composition  of  verses'  on  cheerful  themes  has  not 
unfrequently  afforded  refreshment  to  afflicted  genius.  It 
was  so  with  a  hj'mn- writer  of  the  last  century.  "Ill 
health,"  says  he,  in  a  preface  to  a  collection  of  hymns, 
"  some  years  past,  having  kept  me  from  travelling  or 
preaching,  I  took  up  the  trade  of  hj'mn-making,  a  handi- 
craft much  followed  of  late,  but  a  business  I  was  not  born 
or  bred  to,  and  undertaken  chiefly  to  keep  a  long  sickness 
from  preying  on  my  spirit,  and  to  make  tedious  nights 
pass  over  more  smoothly.  Some  tinkling  employment  was 
wanted,  which  might  amuse  and  not  fatigue  ine."  Merry 
old  Berridge !  even  he,  at  times,  needed  "some  tinkling 
employment"  to   keep  his  spirits   up;  and  even  he  had 


MARRIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  285 

seasons  of  reaction  from  clieerful  excitement,  during  which 
the  good  frviit  of  his  recreation  was  in  danger  of  being 
consigned  to  oblivion.  "  These  hymns,"  he  writes,  "  were 
composed  in  a  six  months'  illness,  and  have  since  laid 
neglected  by  me ;  often  threatened  with  the  fire,  but  have 
escaped  that  martyrdom.  Fatherly  mercy  prevented  that 
literary  death,  for  authors  can  seldom  prove  cruel  to  their 
own  olfs]jring,  however  deformed  ;  but  they  came  into  the 
world  naked,  neither  clothed  with  recommendation  or 
correction  of  any  friend.  Such  as  they  are,  I  offer  them  to 
the  reader,  and  suppose  he  may  find  in  them  the  common 
lot  of  human  productions,  some  things  to  blame  and  some 
to  commend.  Some  of  the  hymns  have  occasionally 
rambled  into  magazines,  under  the  signature  of  *  Old 
Everton''  and  are  now  finding  their  way  home  again." 
Among  these  returning  ramblers  there  is  his  hymn  on  "  a 
Christian  wedding,"  and  those  who  wish  to  enter  on 
married  life  with  the  holy  songs  of  a  hallowed  wedding- 
day  in  their  hearts  will  be  thankful  for  the  fruit  of  "  Old 
Everton's"  "  tinkling  employment,"  and  learn  to  sing  with 
him: — 

Our  Jesus  freely  did  appear  ^ 

To  grace  a  marriage  feast ; 

And,  Lord,  we  ask  Thy  presence  here, 
To  make  a  wedding  guest. 

Upon  the  bridal  pair  look  down, 

Who  now  have  plighted  hands  ; 
Their  union  with  Tliy  favour  crown. 

And  bless  the  nuj)tial  bands. 

With  gifts  of  grace  their  hearts  endow, 

Of  all  rich  dowries  best! 
Their  substance  bless,  and  peace  bestow, 

To  sweeten  all  the  rest. 

In  purest  love  their  souls  unite, 

And  link'd  in  kindly  care, 
To  render  family  burdens  light, 

By  taking  mutual  share  ; 

True  helpers  may  they  prove  indeed 

In  prayer,  and  faith,  and  hope  ; 
And  see  with  joy  a  godly  seed 

To  buOd  the  household  up. 

As  Isaac  and  Rebecca,  give 

A  pattern  chaste  and  kind; 
So  may  this  new-met  couple  live 

In  faithful  friendship  joined. 


286  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYIVHSTS. 

The  joys  and  contentment  of  matrimony  should  never 
interfere  with  the  pleasures  of  commemorating  one's  birth- 
day. The  birth-day  of  wife  or  husband,  of  son  or  daughter, 
affords  an  opportunity  of  cheerful  congratulation  and 
devout  thanksgiving.  Nor  can  we  forget  to  liang  another 
wreath  about  our  memorial  of  the  man  who  has  done  so 
much  to  brighten  the  changes  of  domestic  life  with  his 
sprightly  and  instructive  hymns.  "They  who  observe 
their  birth-days,"  says  the  poet  who  taught  us  to  sing  at  a 
"  house-warming,"  "  which  many  anciently  have  done,  and 
some  yet  do,  may  by  tliis  hymn  be  remembered  of  such 
meditations  as  are  pertinent  to  their  anniversary,  and  God 
may  be  thereby  the  more  often  praised  for  our  temporal 
being : — 

Lord,  oil  this  day  Thou  didst  bestow 

A  breathing-  life  on  me  ; 
This  day  an  actor  here  below, 

I  first  began  to  be  ; 
And  but  few  rounds  the  sun  hath  made 

Since  I  that  now  am  here, 
No  portion  of  an  essence  had 

Except  in  Thee  it  were. 

But  now  there  is  a  part  of  me — 

And,  Lord,  from  Thee  it  spring-s — 
That  shall  both  named  and  numbered  be 

"With  everlasting-  things. 
And  that  which  time  doth  wear  away, 

Time's  ruin  -will  restore, 
To  be  rejoined  thereto  for  aye, 

When  time  shall  be  no  more. 

We  now  are  Thy  probationers. 

And  as  we  run  this  race. 
The  life  which  is  to  come  prefers 

To  honour  or  disgrace. 
And  they  which  here  the  pathway  miss 

That  unto  virtue  tends, 
Shall  find  no  means  nor  hope  of  bliss 

When  this  brief  lifetime  ends. 

Another  year  is  now  begun, 

And  yet  I  do  not  see 
How  far  the  time  which  forth  has  run, 

I  can  account  to  Thee. 
For  I  confess  I  have  misspent — 

My  longings  to  fulfil — ■ 
The  times  which  unto  me  were  but 

To  execute  Thy  will. 


MARRIAGE  SONGS  AND  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  287 

And  in  the  days  which  are  behind, 

Behind  if  anj'-  be, 
Wliat  profit  may  I  hope  to  find. 

What  will  they  pleasure  me  ? 
Since,  though  time  past  I  might  redeem, 

So  much  that  work  will  cost, 
As,  first  or  last,  my  time  will  seem 

In  hazard  to  be  lost. 

Lord,  let  this  day  of  my  first  birth. 

Occasion  yearly  give. 
To  keep  me  mindful  why  on  earth 

My  being  I  receive  ; 
And  of  my  second  birth,  likewise. 

So  mind  Thou  me  thereby, 
That  I  to  life  may  not  arise, 

A  second  death  to  die. 

But  let  this  day,  and  all  the  days, 

Which  I  hereafter  view, 
Employed  be  to  give  Thee  praise. 

To  whom  all  praise  is  due. 
And  thus  let  no  man  say  of  me. 

When  I  to  dust  return, 
Oh,  well  with  him  now  would  it  be. 

If  he  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Charles  Wesley  never  allowed  a  birth-day  to  pass  with- 
out some  cheerful  hymn.  Like  Withers,  he  knew  how  to 
extract  sweets  from  every  passing  hour,  and  never  failed  to 
engage  the  inspiration  which  touched  him  as  times  and 
seasons  went  along  in  brightening  with  songs  every  token 
of  our  mortal  state.  No  one  whom  he  teaches  to  sing  on  his 
bii"th-day  can  forget  that  hymn  which  closes  with  so  fine  an 
allusion  to  the  beautiful  old  Jewish  tradition  that  God  drew 
the  soul  of  Moses  out  of  his  body  with  a  kiss  ;  a  tradition 
founded  on  Deut.  xxxiv.  5,  "  He  died  according  to  the 
word  of  the  Lord,"  or  literally,  "at  the  mouth  of  Jehovah." 
The  sprightly  verses  run  thus  : — 

God  of  my  life,  to  Thee 

My  cheerful  soul  I  raise ; 
Thy  goodness  bade  me  be, 

And  still  prolongs  my  days. 
I  see  my  natal  hour  return. 
And  bless  the  day  that  I  was  born. 

A  clod  of  living  earth. 
Oh  glorify  Thy  name, 


288  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

For  whom  alone  my  birth, 

And  all  my  blessings  came ; 
Creating  and  preserving  grace, 
Let  all  that  is  within  me  praise  I 

Long  as  I  live  beneath, 

To  Thee,  O  let  me  live  ; 
To  Thee  my  every  breath 

In  thanks  and  praises  give. 
"Whate'er  I  have,  whate'er  I  am, 
Shall  magnify  my  Maker" s  name. 

My  soul,  and  all  its  powers, 

Thine,  wholly  Thine,  shall  be  ; 
AH,  all  my  happy  hours 

I  consecrate  to  Thee. 
Me  to  Thine  image  now  restore. 
And  I  shall  praise  Thee  evermore. 

I  wait  Thy  wiU  to  do, 

As  angels  do  in  heaven  ; 
In  Christ  a  creature  new. 

Most  graciously  forgiven. 
I  wait  Thy  perfect  will  to  prove. 
All  sanctified  by  spotless  love. 

Then,  when  the  work  is  done — 

The  work  of  faith  with  power — 
Receive  Thy  favoured  son. 

In  death's  triumphant  hour. 
Like  Moses  to  Thyself  convey, 
And  kiss  my  raptured  soul  away. 

Greorge  Withers  and  Charles  Wesley  have  helped  to 
deck  many  a  bridal  service  with  wreaths  of  song,  and  to 
hallow  the  merriment  of  many  a  grateful  birth-day ;  but 
there  is  a  name  which  will  ever  be  balmy  to  those  who 
devoutly  hail  the  light  of  a  wedding-day.  The  tender 
simplicity  and  quiet  devotion  of  Keble's  hymn  on  "  Holy 
Matrimony"  will  always  be  welcome  to  those  who  wish  to 
have  their  nuptial  joj-s  happily  interwoven  with  prayer  and 
praise  :  — 

The  voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden, 

The  earliest  wedding-day. 

The  primal  marriage  blessing. 

It  hath  not  passed  away. 

Still  in  the  pure  espousal 

Of  Chi'istian  man  and  maid. 
The  Holy  Three  are  with  us. 

The  threefold  grace  is  said  : 


MARRIAGE  SONGS  AKD  BIRTH-DAY  HYMNS.  289 

For  dower  of  blessed  children, 

For  love  and  faith's  sweet  sake, 
For  high  mysterious  union, 

Which  nought  on  earth  may  break. 

Be  present,  awful  Father, 

To  give  away  this  bride. 
As  Eve  Thou  gav'st  to  Adam, 

Out  of  his  own  pierced  side. 

Be  present.  Son  of  Mary, 

To  join  their  loving  hands, 
As  Thou  didst  bind  two  natures 

In  Thine  eternal  bands. 

Be  present,  holiest  Spirit, 

To  bless  them  as  they  kneel ; 
As  Thou,  for  Christ,  the  Bridegroom, 

The  heavenly  spouse  doth  seal. 

Oh  spread  Thy  pure  wing  o'er  them. 

Let  no  ill  power  find  place, 
When  onward  to  Thine  altar. 

The  hallow'd  path  they  trace. 

To  cast  their  crowns  before  Thee, 

In  perfect  sacrifice. 
Till  to  the  home  of  gladness, 

With  Christ's  own  bride  they  rise. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD. 

"  When  gathering  clouds  around  I  view, 
And  days  are  dark,  and  friends  are  few, 
On  Him  I  lean,  who  not  in  vain 
Experienced  every  human  pain  ; 
He  sees  my  wants,  allays  my  fears, 
And  counts  and  treasures  up  my  tears." 

The  ''mercy-seat"  of  old  was  sometimes  covered  with  a 
mysterious   cloud,  whose   shade   graciously  qualified  the 
lustre  of  Divine  majesty,   and  from  whose  depths  were 
evolved  the  most  cheering  tokens  of  God's  favour.     From 
that  cloud  Aaron  had  seen  the  fire  of  wrath  shoot  forth  to 
consume  his  unholy  sons,  and  to  him  it  was  now  like  the 
shadow  of  death,  the  fearful  symbol  of  his  bitterest  trial  as 
a  parent  and   as   a  priest.     But  Grod,  by  the  mouth  of 
Moses,  encouraged  him  to  approach,  even  to  that  cloud, 
with  the  blood  of  a  sin-offering  in  his  hand,  giving  him 
the  promise,  "I  will  ajDpear  in  the  cloud  upon  the  mercy- 
seat."     The  believing  Christian,  like  Aaron,  has  access  to 
the  mercy-seat  of  his  reconciled  God,  but  sometimes  finds 
a  cloud  on  it.     His  heavenly  Father  occasionally  permits 
dark  mysterious  trials  to  overshadow  his  way  to  the  propi- 
tiatory ;  trials  which,  though  they  appear  inscrutable,  are 
blessings  in  disguise,  dispensations  of  mercy  in  the  form  of 
mysterious  trial.     He  is  assured,  however,  that  while  he 
comes  by  faith  in  the  sacrifice  of  Christ,  those  very  trials 
will  afford  some  of   the  most  satisfactory  revelations  of 
God's  character  and  will,  "  I  will  appear  as  a  cloud  upon 
the  mercy-seat."     And  when  our  clouds  are  around  the 
mercy-seat,  in  gracious  association  with  the  purposes  of 
mercy,    and   the  Divine  wisdom    and    power,   goodness, 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  291 

holiness,  and  love,  are  opened  upon  the  soul  from^the  very- 
clouds  which  overshadow  it,  our  sorrows  are  turned  into 
joy,  rather  than  followed  by  it,  and  our  hearts  are  com- 
forted with  hymns  and  "  songs  of  deliverance."  About 
forty  years  ago,  Wilson,  in  his  "  Noctes  Ambrosiance," 
says,  "  Have  you  seen  a  little  volume  entitled  '  Tales  in 
Verse,  by  the  Eev.  H.  F.  Lyte,'  which  seems  to  have 
reached  a  second  edition  ?  Now  that  is  the  right  kind  of 
religious  poetry.  Mr.  Lyte  shows  how  the  sins  and 
sorrows  of  men  flow  from  irreligion,  in  simple  yet  strong 
domestic  narrations,  told  in  a  style  and  spirit  reminding 
one  sometimes  of  Groldsmith  and  sometimes  of  Crabbe.  A 
volume  so  humble  in  its  appearance  and  pretensions  runs 
the  risk  of  being  jostled  off  the  highway  into  by-paths ; 
and,  indeed,  no  harm  if  it  should,  for  in  such  retired  places 
it  will  be  pleasant  reading — pensive  in  the  shade,  and 
cheerful  in  the  sunshine.     Mr.  Lyte  has  reaped 

The  harvest  of  a  quiet  eye 

That  broods  and  sleeps  on  its  own  heart, 

and  his  Christian  tales  will  be  read  with  interest  and 
instruction  by  many  a  fireside.  *  The  Brothers '  is  exceed- 
ingly beautiful.  lie  ought  to  give  us  another  volume."  The 
gentle  and  unpretending  man,  whose  volume  was  so 
beautiful  a  reflection  of  his  own  character,  did  * '  give  us 
another  volume,"  under  the  title  of  "Poems,  Chiefly 
Eeligious."  Some  of  his  poems  were,  indeed,  hymns  from 
under  the  cloud.  Though  comparatively  young,  he  had 
often  found  clouds  "  upon  the  mercy-seat."  But  God  had 
appeared  to  him,  inspiring  and  hallowing  his  genius,  and 
calling  up  songs  from  his  heart,  that  have  been  peacefully 
and  resignedly  sung  by  many  a  tried,  but  happy  Christian. 
Here  is  one  springing  from  "  thoughts  in  weakness,"  and 
entitled  *  *  Submission ' '  — 

Yet  think  not,  0  my  soul,  to  keep 

Thy  progress  on  to  God, 
By  any  road  less  rough  and  steep 

Than  that  thy  fathers  trod. 
In-tears  and  trials  thou  must  sow 

To  reap  in  joy  and  love ; 
We  cannot  find  our  hom«  below, 

And  hope  for  one  above. 


292  HYMN-WBITEKS  AKD  THEIK  HYMNS. 

No ;  here  we  labour,  watch,  and  pray, 

Our  rest  and  peace  are  there ; 
God  will  not  take  the  thorn  away, 

But  give  us  strength  to  bear. 
The  holiest,  greatest,  best,  have  thus 

In  wisdom  learnt  to  grow  ; 
Yea,  He  that  gave  Himself  for  us 

"Was  perfected  by  woe. 

Thou — Man  of  Sorrows — Thou  didst  not 

The  bitter  cup  decline, 
"Why  should  I  claim  a  better  lot, 

A  smoother  path  than  Thine  ? 
Thou  sought' st  no  treasure  here  on  earth, 

No  glory  'neath  the  skies ; 
And  what  Thou  dream' dst  so  little  worth. 

Shall  I  so  highly  prize  ? 

Did  not  reproach  and  wrong  rain  down 

Upon  Thy  hallowed  head  ? 
Didst  Thou  not  strip  off  glory's  crown 

To  wear  the  thorns  instead  ? 
When  foes  reviled,  didst  Thou  reply, 

Or  render  ill  for  ill  ? 
Didst  Thou  for  man  bleed,  faint,  and  die. 

And  shall  I  falter  still  ? 

In  early  life  to  Thee  I  was 

Consigned  by  solemn  vow, 
Enlisted  'neath  Thy  holy  cross. 

Shall  I  desert  it  now  ? 
I  then  'gainst  ev'ry  hostile  power 

Engaged  to  follow  Thee ; 
And  shall  I,  at  the  trying  hour. 

Be  found  the  first  to  flee  ? 

Thou  didst  not  flee,  O  King  of  love. 

When  Thou  wert  sorely  tried  ; 
When  all  men  fled,  and  God  above 

Appeared  His  face  to  hide. 
Intent  that  guiltless  blood  to  shed. 

That  should  for  guilt  atone. 
The  mighty  winepress  Thou  didst  tread, 

Unshrinking,  though  alone. 

And  shall  I  murmur  or  repine 

At  aught  Thy  hand  may  send  ? 
To  whom  should  I  my  cause  resign, 

If  not  to  such  a  friend  ? 
Where  love  and  wisdom  deign  to  choose, 

Shall  I  the  choice  condemn, 
Or  dare  the  medicine  to  refuse 

That  is  prescribed  by  them  ? 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  293 

Oh,  small  the  gain  "when  men  aspire 

Their  Maker  to  control ; 
He  gives,  perhaps,  their  hearts'  desire, 

And  leanness  to  their  soul. 
Not  His  to  quench  the  smoking  flax, 

Or  break  the  bruised  reed ; 
Or  with  one  pang  our  patience  tax. 

But  what  He  knows  we  need. 

Yet  must  our  steadfastness  be  tried — 

Yet  must  our  graces  grow 
By  holy  warfare.     What  beside 

Did  we  expect  below  ? 
Is  not  the  way  to  heavenly  gain 

Through  earthly  grief  and  loss  ? 
Rest  must  be  won  by  toil  and  pain — 

The  crown  repays  the  cross. 

As  woods,  when  shaken  by  the  breeze. 

Take  deeper,  firmer  root ; 
As  winter's  frosts  but  make  the  trees 

Abound  in  summer  fruit ; 
So  every  heaven-sent  pang  and  throe 

That  Christian  firmness  tries, 
But  nerves  us  for  our  work  below. 

And  forms  us  for  the  skies. 

He  wlio  sang  like  this  had  all  the  qualifications  of  a  sweet 
pensive  hymnist;  but  his  intellect  and  heart  must  have 
had  long  chastening.  The  cloudy  shadows  were  often 
upon  him.  Though  of  somewhat  gentle  blood,  coming 
into  the  world  at  Kelso,  in  June,  1793,  and  having  all  the 
early  advantage  of  a  much-beloved  mother's  gentle  influ- 
ence and  holy  lessons,  he  was  soon  made  to  feel  the  misery 
of  narrow  resources,  and  had  to  struggle  hard  for  the 
benefit  of  a  liberal  education.  His  superior  and  versatile 
talent,  in  happy  association  with  firm  integrity  and  amiable 
temper,  opened  his  way  to  academical  honour,  and  at  last 
to  a  "dreary"  Irish  curacy.  While  tenderly  and  faith- 
fully watching  a  brother  clergyman  in  his  last  moments, 
his  own  heart  was  made  free  by  the  truth  which  sustained 
the  dying  Christian.  But  watchings  by  the  sick,  and  sub- 
sequent labours  on  behalf  of  the  bereaved  widow  and  her 
children,  overtaxed  his  system,  and  he  sank  into  that  con- 
sumptive tendency  which  brought  frequent  clouds  over 
him  all  through  his  remaining  life.  He  travelled  on  the 
Continent ;  and  on  his  return,  after  trying  the  climate  of 


294  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Bristol,  and,  "  after  being  jostled  about  from  one  curacy 
to  another,"  be  settled  for  a  time  as  lecturer,  in  the  quiet 
little  town  of  Marazion,  on  the  shore  of  the  beautiful  bay 
of  Mount  St.  Michael,  in  Cornwall.  Here  he  married. 
Then,  he  is  found  at  Lymington,  writing  poems  and  the 
tales  that  so  charmed  Professor  Wilson.  Then  on  the 
banks  of  the  Dart,  in  South  Devon.  Those  who  have  had 
the  joy  of  gliding  on  the  waters  of  that  lovely  river  well 
remember  its  strange  twists  and  turns — especially  at  one 
point,  where  it  turns  back  on  its  course,  and  where,  in 
following  it,  we  seem  now  to  be  plunging  into  a  depth  of 
oaken  woods,  and  now  are  suddenly  amidst  an  open 
amphitheatre  of  leafy  heights  rising  one  above  another, 
and  opening  here  and  there  into  bright  green  lawns  and 
ferny  slopes.  Around  a  point,  and  there,  under  the 
shelter  of  hills  crowned  with  billowy  foliage,  her  line  of 
rustic  roofs  just  peeping  above  the  many  masses  of  copse 
and  garden  verdure,  in  dreamy  stillness,  and  in  simple  and 
homely  beauty,  is  the  village  of  Dittisham.  There  the 
wandering  curate  nestled  in  a  cottage  ;  going  out  now  and 
then  to  officiate  at  Lower  Brixham.  Brixham  was  at  last 
his  parish  ;  and  there,  for  twenty  years,  he  toiled  in  his 
pastorate  imder  many  a  cloud — clouds  of  personal  suffer- 
ing, clouds  of  pastoral  difficulty  and  discom'agement.  To 
his  tender,  sensitive  nature,  the  peculiar  condition  of  his 
flock  must  frequently  have  been  a  source  of  trial.  His 
charge  was  the  busy,  shrewd,  somewhat  rough,  but  warm- 
hearted population  of  a  fishing  coast  and  sea-faring  dis- 
trict, which  had  been  subjected  to  all  the  corrupting  influ- 
ences peculiar  to  the  neighbourhood  of  naval  and  military 
forces  during  the  French  war.  The  social  character  of  his 
flock  had  been  rendered  still  more  difficult  to  deal  with  by 
the  religious  prejudices  which  had  sprung  up  amidst  the 
doctrinal  strife  between  the  disciples  of  such  teachers  as 
Dr.  Hawker  of  Plymouth,  and  their  Arminian  opponents. 
The  form  and  face  of  one  old  Arminian  is  still  remembered 
at  Brixham — one  who  was  always  apt  at  argument,  but 
who  was  inexhaustible,  too,  in  the  use  of  sarcasm  where 
argument  seemed  to  be  pointless.  He  was  seen  one  Sun- 
day morning,  just  outside  the  door  of  the  Calvinist  chapel, 
bending  over  the  margin  of  a  filthy  pool.  As  the  congre- 
gation came  out,  he  was  in  the  act  of  stirring  up   the 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  295 

stagnant  water  -with  a  long  stick.  "What  are  you  look- 
ing for  ?  "  said  his  theological  antagonists,  as  they  gathered 
around  him.  "  I  am  searching,"  said  he,  without  looking 
up,  but  still  stirring  up  the  mud,  "I  am  searching  for  the 
'eternal  decrees'!"  Among  a  people  capable  of  such 
modes  of  religious  strife,  and  with  characters  so  complicated, 
and  imder  the  sway  of  so  many  influences,  Mr.  Lyte  would 
have  many  a  cloud  passing  over  his  spirits  during  his 
course  of  pastoral  labour.  But  he  never  shrank  from  work. 
His  heart  never  quailed  in  suffering.  But  he  solaced 
himself,  and  frequently  softened  and  subdued  the  hard 
natures  around  him  with  hymns  from  under  the  cloud.  He 
made  hymns  for  his  little  ones,  and  hymns  for  his  hardy 
fishermen,  and  hymns  for  sufferers  like  himself.  How 
many  a  cloudy  day  was  cheered  by  a  song  like  this  ! — 

My  spirit  on  Thy  care, 

Blest  Saviour,  I  recline  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  to  despair, 

For  Thou  art  love  Divine. 

In  Thee  I  place  my  trust. 

On  Thee  I  calmly  rest ; 
I  know  Thee  good,  I  know  Thee  just. 

And  count  Thy  choice  the  best. 

'  Whate'er  events  betide. 

Thy  will  they  all  perform  ; 
Safe  in  Thy  breast  my  head  I  hide, 
Nor  fear  the  coming  storm. 

Let  good  or  ill  bef  al. 

It  must  be  good  for  me  ; 
Secure  of  having  Thee  in  all, 

Of  having  all  in  Thee. 

The  Brixham  hymnist'  s  days  were  numbered.  His  strength 
gradually  failed.  The  climate  of  Italy  was  several  times 
tried ;  and  his  life  was  spun  out  for  a  little  while.  But 
the  end  must  come.  The  autumn  of  1847  was  approaching, 
and  he  must  needs  take  his  last  journey  to  the  genial  south. 
It  was  always  hard  to  leave  his  dear  Berry  Head.  "  They 
tell  me,"  says  he,  "  that  the  sea  is  injurious  to  me.  I  hope 
not ;  for  I  know  of  no  divorce  I  should  more  deprecate  than 
from  the  lordly  ocean.  Prom  childhood  it  has  been  my 
friend  and  playmate,  and  never  have  I  been  weary  of 
gazing  on  its  glorious  face.     Besides,  if  I  cannot  live  by 


296  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

the  sea,  adieu  to  poor  Berry  Head — adieu  to  the  wild 
birds,  and  wild  flowers,  and  all  the  objects  that  have  made 
my  old  residence  so  attractive."  But  by-and-by  he  adds, 
"I  am  meditating  flight  again  to  the  south.  The  little 
faithful  robin  is  every  morning  at  my  window,  sweetly 
warning  me  that  autumnal  hours  are  at  hand.  The 
swallows  are  preparing  for  flight,  and  inviting  me  to 
accompany  them ;  and  yet,  alas  !  while  I  talk  of  flying,  I 
am  just  able  to  crawl,  and  ask  myself  whether  I  shall  be 
able  to  leave  England  at  all."  He  did  go,  never  to  return. 
Before  he  went,  he  wished  once  more  to  preach  to  his 
people.  His  family  was  alarmed  at  the  thought ;  but  he 
gently  replied,  "It  is  better  to  loear  out  than  to  rust  out." 
He  felt  equal  to  this  last  effort,  and  had  no  fear.  He 
preached.  It  was  on  the  "  Holy  Communion,"  and  it  was 
solemnly  significant  to  hear  him  say,  "  Oh,  brethren,  I  can 
speak  feelingly,  experimentally,  on  this  point ;  and  I  stand 
here  among  you  seasonably  to-day,  as  alive  from  the  dead, 
if  I  may  hope  to  impress  it  upon  you,  and  induce  you  to 
prepare  for  that  solemn  hour,  which  must  come  to  all,  by 
a  timely  acquaintance  with,  appreciation  of,  dependence 
on,  the  death  of  Christ."  This  was  his  last  appeal.  And 
for  the  last  time  he  dispensed  the  sacred  elements  to  his 
sorrowing  flock ;  and  then,  exhausted  with  his  effort,  he 
retired  with  a  soul  in  sweet  repose  on  that  Christ  whom 
he  had  preached  with  his  dying  breath.  And  as  the 
evening  drew  on  he  handed  to  a  near  and  dear  relative 
those  undying  verses,  and  his  own  adapted  music  for  the 
hymn : — 

Abide  with  me !     Fast  falls  the  eventide ; 
The  darkness  deepens ;  Lord,  with  me  abide ! 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim ;  its  glories  pass  away ; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see ; 
0  Thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me ! 

Not  a  brief  glance  I  beg,  a  passing  word, 
But  as  Thou  dwell'st  with  Thy  disciples,  Lord, 
Familiar,  condescending,  patient,  free, 
Come,  not  to  sojourn,  but  abide  with  me! 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  297 

Come  not  in  terrors,  as  the  Eang  of  kings, 
But  kind  and  good,  with  healing  in  Thy  wings : 
Tears  for  all  woes,  a  heart  for  every  plea, 
Come,  Friend  of  sinners,  and  thus  bide  with  me ! 

Thou  on  my  head  in  early  youth  didst  smile, 
And,  though  rebellious  and  perverse  meanwhile, 
Thou  hast  not  left  me,  oft  as  I  left  Thee, 
On  to  the  close,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me ! 

I  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour, 
What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  power  ? 
Who  like  Thyself  my  guide  and  stay  can  be, 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  oh,  abide  with  me  ! 

I  fear  no  foe  with  Thee  at  hand  to  bless : 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness. 
Where  is  death's  sting?  where,  grave,  thy  victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me. 

Hold,  then,  Thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes  ; 
Shine  through  the  gloom,  and  point  me  to  the  skies  ; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  shadows  flee. 
In  life  and  death,  0  Lord,  abide  with  me  ! 

This  was  his  last  hymn  upon  earth.  He  reached  Nice, 
and  there  his  spirit  entered  into  rest.  He  pointed  upwards 
in  passing,  and  murmured  softly,  "peace,"  "joy!"  while 
his  face  brightened  into  smiles  as  the  shadow  of  his  last 
cloud  melted  before  the  "  Light  of  Life." 

Lyte  was  not  the  first  pastor  and  preacher  who  was 
used  to  sing  hymns  under  the  cloud.  The  complex 
opinions  and  tempers  of  society  around  him  in  his  parish, 
often  perplexing  his  soul,  and  making  it  less  easy  to  keep 
up  his  spirits  under  personal  affliction,  might  remind  us  of 
the  strange  varieties  of  rehgious  and  social  life  which 
distinguished  the  times  of  Eichard  Baxter ;  and  probably 
aggravated  that  good  pastor's  sufferings  in  his  own  person. 
No  student  of  curiosities  in  human  life  and  character  coidd 
possibly  desire  a  more  rare  and  comprehensive  collection 
of  religious  party  freaks,  fancies,  and  monstrous  delusions, 
than  clustered  within  the  range  of  Eichard  Baxter's 
observation.  With  multiform  battalions  of  Presbyterians, 
Independents,  and  Anabaptists,  there  were  Familists 
begotten  in  the  hotbeds  of  America,  Seekers,  Eanters, 
Quakers,  and  the  stunned  and  astonished  admirers  of 
Jacob  Behmen — all   pressing    their    bewildering    claims 


298  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

upon  Ms  notice.  How  many  a  trial  of  faith  and  patience 
must  he  have  had  amidst  his  opportunities  of  insight  into 
party  complications  !  If  we  may  judge  from  the  tone  of 
his  remarks  on  parties  at  court,  some  of  his  heaviest  trials 
from  without  must  have  come  upon  him  in  his  intercourse 
with  Cromwell.  He  had  several  interviews  with  the 
Protector;  and  he  speaks  of  being  "wearied"  with  his 
speeches,  and  says,  "I  told  him  a  little  of  my  judgment; 
and  when  two  of  his  company  had  spun  out  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  time  in  such  tedious  hut  mere  ignorant  speeches,  some 
four  or  five  hours  being  spent,  I  told  him  that  if  he  would 
be  at  the  labour  to  read  it,  I  could  tell  him  more  of  my 
mind  in  writing  on  two  sheets  than  in  that  way  of  speaking 
in  many  days.  .  .  .  He  received  my  paper,  but  I  scarce 
believe  that  he  ever  read  it;  fori  saw  that  what  he  learned 
m.ust  be  from  himself,  being  more  disposed  to  speak  many 
hours  than  to  hear  one ;  and  little  heeding  what  another  said 
when  he  had  spoken  himself."  Who  would  not  like  to 
have  had  the  privilege  of  a  quiet  glance  or  two,  first  at 
one  and  then  at  the  other  of  those  two  great  antagonist 
faces,  during  the  grave  performance  of  this  comical  act  ? 
Wlio  can  pretend  to  a  conception  of  the  style  in  which  the 
political  chief  kept  up  appearances  ?  Baxter's  visage 
would  of  coiirse  be  true  to  its  mission.  A  remakable 
visage  was  that  of  his  ;  never  to  be  forgotten  if  once  seen. 
Long  it  was,  but  decided.  Hard,  some  would  say,  but 
telling  with  fearful  eloquence  how  bravely  his  righteous 
soul  maintained  a  life  struggle  against  the  acrid  humours 
of  a  diseased  body ;  .how  superhuman  labours  for  the 
world's  health  had  been  continued  amidst  losses  of  blood 
and  daily  sweats,  brought  upon  him,  he  tells  us,  by 
"the  acrimonious  medicaments"  of  stupid  doctors  who 
thought  to  save  him  from  the  effects  of  a  youthful  taste 
for  sour  apples,  by  over-doses  of  "scurvy  grass,"  worm- 
wood-beer, horse-radish,  and  mustard  !  He  looked,  indeed, 
like  one  who,  as  a  last  remedy  for  a  depressing  afiliction, 
had  literally  swallowed  a  "  gold  bullet  of  thirty  shillings' 
weight,"  and,  having  taken  it,  "knew  not  how  to  be 
delivered  of  it  again!"  With  all  this,  the  marks  of  a 
confessor  were  traceable  on  the  good  man's  countenance. 
He  had  been  driven  from  place  to  place.  Now,  in  prison 
for  preaching  at  Acton ;  now,  kept  out  of  his  pulpit  by 


HYMSrS  FEOM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  299 

a  militaiy  guard ;  now,  seized  again,  and  his  goods  and 
books  sold  to  pay  the  fine  for  preaching  five  sermons — he 
being  so  ill  that  he  could  not  be  imprisoned  without, 
danger  of  death;  and  now  again,  in  the  King's  Bench 
under  a  warrant  from  the  villanous  Jeffreys,  for  writing 
a  paraphrase  on  the  New  Testament.  His  later  life  was 
often  "in  peril"  for  Christ's  sake;  and  there  must  have 
been  something  deeply  touching  in  that  impress  of  digni- 
fied sorrow  which  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  Judge 
Hale  when  he  saw  the  persecuted  man  standing  before  the 
Bench.  His  presence  must  have  been  felt  wherever  he  ap- 
peared. Everybody  who  knew  him  acknowledged  his  mental 
and  moral  grandeur.  And  yet  there  was  a  maziness  about 
the  action  of  his  versatile  powers  which  seems  to  be  for 
ever  hindering  us  from  completing  our  estimate  of  his 
character.  Here,  he  is  seen  searching  for  some  mode  of 
efi'ecting  a  comprehension  of  religious  parties  ;  there,  he 
seems  to  be  pushing  and  poking  in  every  direction,  just  by 
way  of  keeping  things  around  him  alive  ;  ever  and  anon, 
however,  stopping  to  make  distinctions,  or  stumbling  upon 
some  difficulties  which  keep  him  back  from  his  object. 
Now,  he  is  thundering  in  the  pulpit ;  now,  catechising 
children;  now,  lecturing  "  the  powers  that  be";  now,  act- 
ing the  pastor  in  true  plodding  style  ;  now,  smelling  out 
heresies,  or  scenting  disguised  papists  and  infidels ;  and 
now,  making  reformed  liturgies  for  all  scrupulous  souls. 
How  wondrous  is  the  action  of  his  j)en !  To-day,  we  see 
it  sketching  scenes  of  "  everlasting  rest,"  as  if  it  were  an 
ethereal  plume  ;  to-morrow,  it  is  waving  to  call  up  terrors 
from  beneath  upon  the  consciences  of  sinners.  Then  again, 
he  wields  it  as  a  polemical  lance,  with  all  the  sharpness 
and  unsparing  dexterity  of  a  Saracen  knight-errant ;  and 
then,  as  if  instinct  with  hopeful  submission,  it  gives  birth 
to  a  hymn  from  beneath  clouds  of  trial  and  suffering, 
thus : — 

Now,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care 
Whether  I  die  or  live ; 

To  love  and  serve  Thee  is  my  share, 

And  this  Thy  grace  must  give.  ' 

If  death  shall  bruise  this  springing  seed 

Before  it  coines  to  fruit, 
The  -will  with  Thee  goes  for  the  deed, 

Thy  life  was  in  the  root. 


300  HYMN- WRITERS  AKD  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Would  I  long  bear  my  heavy  load, 

And  keep  my  sorrows  long  ? 
Would  I  long  sin  against  my  God, 

And  His  dear  mercy  wrong  ? 

How  mucli  is  sinful  flesh  my  foe, 

That  doth  my  soul  pervert 
To  linger  here  in  sin  and  woe, 

And  steals  from  God  my  heart ! 

Christ  leads  me  through  no  darker  rooms 

Than  He  went  through  before ; 
He  that  unto  God's  kingdom  comes 

Must  enter  by  this  door. 

Come,  Lord,  when  grace  hath  made  me  meet 

Thy  blessed  face  to  see ; 
For  if  Thy  work  on  earth  be  sweet. 

What  will  Thy  glory  be  ? 

Then  I  shall  end  my  sad  complaints, 

And  weary,  sinful  days, 
And  join  with  the  triumphant  saints 

That  sing  Jehovah's  praise. 

My  knowledge  of  that  hfe  is  small ; 

The  eye  of  faith  is  dim  ; 
But  it 's  enough  that  Christ  knows  all. 

And  I  shall  be  with  Him. 

This  is  among  the  ever-living  fruits  of  Richard  Baxter's 
trials.  He  lived  to  toil  and  sing  amidst  clouds  of  all 
variety  in  -weight  and  shade.  But  one  cloud  of  more 
mysterious  depth  and  more  awful  darkness  came  at 
intervals,  in  a  later  period,  upon  a  gentler  spirit  than 
l^axter,  one  who  seemed  far  less  prepared  to  rejoice  in 
tribulation.  What  morbid  horrors  sometimes  wrapped  the 
soul  of  Cowper  !  and  yet  he  sang.  His  hymns  arose  even 
from  his  depth  of  depression  ;  nor  was  there  ever  a  sweeter, 
more  simple,  and  trustful  hymn  from  beneath  a  cloud 
than  this : — 

O  Lord,  my  best  desire  fulfil. 

And  help  me  to  resign 
Life,  health,  and  comfort  to  Thy  will. 

And  make  Thy  pleasure  mine. 

Why  should  I  shrink  from  Thy  command. 

Whose  love  forbids  my  fears  ? 
Or  tremble  at  the  gracious  hand 

That  wipes  away  my  tears  ? 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  301 

No,  rather  let  me  freely  yield 

What  most  I  prize  to  Thee, 
Who  never  hast  a  good  withheld, 

Or  "wilt  withhold  from  m^e. 

Thy  favour,  all  my  journey  through, 

Thou  art  engaged  to  grant ; 
What  else  I  want,  or  think  I  do, 

'Tis  better  still  to  want. 

But  ah !  my  inward  spirit  cries, 

Still  bend  me  to  Thy  sway  ! 
Else  the  next  cloud  that  veils  the  skies 

Drives  all  those  thoughts  away. 

Like  Cowper,  "  Theodosia,"  or  Anne  Steele,  sjjent 
her  life  in  quiet  retirement,  suffering  the  mysterious 
will  of  God  alone,  or  in  a  retreat  to  which  but  few 
kindred  spirits  had  access.  Her  rural  home,  under  the 
shelter  of  the  Hampshire  Downs,  was  to  her  ceaselessly 
overshadowed  by  aiSiction.  She  was  ever  bending 
beneath  infirmities  which  limited  her  sphere  of  physical 
activity;  but  she  exemplified  the  inspired  truth  that, 
though  "no  chastening  for  the  present  seemeth  to  be 
joyous,  but  grievous,  nevertheless  afterward  it  yieldeth 
the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness  unto  them  which 
are  exercised  thereby."  The  fruit  in  her  case,  as  in 
many  others,  was  to  be  perpetually  renewing  itself. 
Many  of  her  best  hymns  were  the  fruit  of  hallowed 
affliction,  and  they  live  to  bring  forth  "the  peaceable 
fruits  of  righteousness"  in  the  souls  of  chastened 
Christians  from  generation  to  generation.  How  many  a 
heart  "desiring  resignation  and  thankfulness"  she  has 
taught  to  sing : — 

When  I  survey  life's  varied  scene. 

Amid  the  darkest  hours, 
Sweet  rays  of  comfort  shine  between, 

And  thorns  are  mix'd  with  flowers. 

Lord,  teach  me  to  adore  Thy  hand, 

From  whence  my  comforts  flow ; 
And  let  me  in  this  desert  land, 

A  glimpse  of  Canaan  know. 

Is  health  and  ease  my  happy  share  ? 

Oh,  may  I  bless  my  God ; 
Thy  kindness  let  my  songs  declare, 

And  spread  Thy  praise  abroad. 


302  HYMN-WEITEES  A^T)  THEIR  HYMNS. 

WMle  such  delightful  gifts  as  these 

Are  kindly  dealt  to  me, 
Be  all  my  hours  of  health  and  ease 

Devoted,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

In  griefs  and  pains  Thy  sacred  word 

(Dear  solace  of  my  soul !) 
Celestial  comforts  can  afford, 

And  all  their  power  control. 

When  present  sufferings  pain  my  heart, 

Or  future  terrors  rise. 
And  light  and  hope  almost  depart 

From  these  dejected  eyes  : 

Thy  powerful  word  supports  my  hope. 

Sweet  cordial  of  the  mind ; 
And  bears  my  fainting  spirit  up, 

And  bids  me  wait  resign'd. 

And  oh,  whate'er  of  earthly  bliss 

Thy  sovereign  hand  denies, 
Accepted  at  Thy  throne  of  grace, 

Let  this  petition  rise : 

"  Give  me  a  calm,  a  thankful  heart, 

Trom  every  murmur  free  ; 
The  blessings  of  Thy  grace  impart, 

And  let  me  live  to  Thee. 

"  Let  the  sweet  hope  that  Thou  art  mine. 

My  path  of  life  attend ; 
Thy  presence  through  my  journey  shine, 

And  bless  its  happy  end." 

These  childlike  expressions  of  Anne  Steele's  calm  resig- 
nation and  heavenly  desires  yviH,  perhaps,  bring  up  in 
many  a  heart  a  feehng  of  gratitude  for  the  eongs  of  many 
other  devout  but  suffering  women.  Who  has  not  been 
melted  into  more  perfect  resignation,  amidst  the  sorrows 
of  daily  life,  while  singing,  in  harmony  with  the  family 
group  of  an  evening,  Charlotte  Elliott's  well-known  verses, 
*' Thy  will  be  done!" 

My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray 
Far  from  my  home  on  life's  rough  way, 
Oh  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Though  dark  my  path  and  sad  my  lot, 
Let  me  be  still,  and  murmur  not, 
Or  breathe  the  prayer  divinely  taught, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  303 

What  though  in  lonely  grief  I  sigh 
For  friends  beloved,  no  longer  nigh, 
Submissive  still  would  I  reply, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Though  Thou  hast  called  me  to  resign 
What  most  I  prized,  it  ne'er  was  mine, 
I  have  but  yielded  what  was  Thine ; 
Thy  wiU  be  done  ! 

Should  grief  or  sickness  waste  away 
My  life  in  premature  decay, 
My  Father !  still  I  strive  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Let  but  my  fainting  heart  be  blest 
With  Thy  sweet  Spirit  for  its  guest, 
My  God,  to  Thee  I  leave  the  rest ; 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Kenew  my  will  from  day  to  day ; 
Blend  it  -with  Thine  ;  and  take  away 
All  that  now  makes  it  hard  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Then,  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more, 
The  prayer,  oft  mix'd  with  tears  before, 
I'll  sing  upon  a  happier  shore. 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

How  this  hushes  the  tremulous  heart !  and  how  gently 
the  touches  of  its  music  persuade  the  soul  into  repose 
beneath  the  "cloud  upon  the  mercy-seat"!  Charles 
Wesley's  hymns,  entitled,  "Believer's  Suffering,"  are  of 
another  class.  They  lack,  in  most  cases,  that  tender, 
soothing  grace  which  has  distinguished  the  songs  of 
more  retired  and  less  observed  sufferers  ;  but  of  all  hymns 
beneath  clouds  of  trial,  they  approach  nearest,  it  may  be, 
to  that  triumphant  faith,  unquenchable  joy,  and  boastful 
reliance  on  Grod,  which  St.  Paul  exemplifies  and  sets  forth 
in  his  teaching.     So  in  those  fine  verses  of  his : — 

Peace  !  doubting  heart ;  my  God's  I  am ! 

Who  form'd  me  man,  forbids  my  fear  : 
The  Lord  hath  call'd  me  by  my  name  j 

The  Lord  protects,  for  ever  near ; 
His  blood  for  me  did  once  atone. 
And  still  He  loves  and  guards  His  own. 

When  passing  through  the  watery  deep, 
I  ask  in  faith  His  promised  aid, 


304  HYMN-WKITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  waves  in  awful  distance  keep, 

And  shrink  from  my  devoted  head ; 
Tearless  their  violence  I  dare, 
They  cannot  harm,  for  God  is  there. 

To  Him  mine  eye  of  faith  I  turn, 

And  through  the  fire  pursue  my  way ; 
The  fire  forgets  its  power  to  bum. 

The  lambent  flames  around  me  play ; 
I  own  His  power,  accept  the  sign, 
And  shout  to  prove  the  Saviour  mine. 

Still  nigh  me,  0  my  Saviour,  stand  ! 

And  guard  in  fierce  temptation's  hour  ; 
Hide  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand ; 

Show  forth  in  me  thy  Saviour's  power  ; 
Still  be  Thy  arms  my  sure  defence  : 
Nor  earth  nor  heU  shall  pluck  me  thence. 

Since  Thou  hast  bid  me  come  to  Thee, 
(Good  as  Thou  art,  and  strong  to  save ;) 

I'll  walk  o'er  life's  tempestuous  sea, 
Upborne  by  the  unyielding  wave. 

Dauntless,  though  rocks  of  pride  be  near, 

And  yawning  whirlpools  of  despair. 

When  darkness  intercepts  the  sides, 

And  sorrow's  waves  around  us  roll, 
Wlien  high  the  storms  of  passion  rise. 

And  half  o'erwhelm  my  sinking  soul, 
My  soul  a  sudden  calm  shall  feel, 
And  hear  a  whisper,  "  Peace,  be  stiU. ! " 

Though  in  affliction's  furnace  tried, 

Unhurt  on  snares  and  death  I'll  tread. 
Though  sin  assail,  and  hell,  thrown  wide, 

Pour  all  its  horrors  on  my  head  ; 
Like  Moses'  bush,  I'll  mount  the  higher. 
And  flourish  unconsumed  in  fire. 

No  Christian  suiferer  can  sing  this  without  having  St. 
Paul's  utterances  amidst  tribulation  sounding  in  his  ear  and 
in  his  heart,  "We  rejoice  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God; 
and  not  only  so,  but  we  glory  in  tribulation  also,  knowing 
that  tribulation  worketh  patience;  and  patience,  experi- 
ence ;  and  experience,  hope;  and  hope  maketh  not  ashamed, 
because  the  love  of  God  is  shed  abroad  in  our  hearts  by 

the  Holy  Ghost  which  is  given  unto  us I   am 

exceeding  joyful  in  all  our  tribulations Who  shall 

sej)arate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?  shall  tribulation,  or 


HYMNS  FROM  BENEATH  THE  CLOUD.  305 

distress,  or  persecution,  or  famine,  or  peril,  or  sword  ? 
Nay,-  in  all  tliese  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors 
through  Him  that  loved  us.  For  I  am  persuaded,  that 
neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor 
powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height, 
nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate 
us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our 
Lord." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

EYMNS  OF  GETHSEMANE  AND  TEE  CROSS. 

"  Grod  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

There  are  some  doctrines  of  Christianity  which  all  true 
believers  acknowledge  as  peculiarly  sacred  —  doctrines 
whose  proper  place  in  the  Christian  systena  is  far  removed 
from  the  inquisitive  touch  of  mere  reason ;  so  that  they 
stand  confessedly  exempt  from  the  test  of  human  contro- 
versy. Such  doctrines  seem  to  be  the  "  heavenly  things" 
which  answer  to  the  most  hallowed  types  of  former  ages. 
Like  the  consecrated  symbols  of  the  "  holiest  place,"  they 
are  designed  neither  to  gratify  the  eye  of  vain  curiosity, 
nor  to  furnish  the  disputer  with  materials  for  strife.  No, 
they  are  never  to  be  approached  but  for  purposes  of 
devotion.  Among  these  inviolable  truths  is  the  doctrine 
of  the  cross.  This  excites  the  highest  devotion  of  the 
glorified  ;  while  it  is  viewed  with  the  deepest  veneration 
by  "  the  holy  church  throughout  all  the  world."  What  the 
ark  or  the  altar  was  to  the  ancient  Jew,  the  cross  is  to  the 
true  Christian,  his  holiest  thing.  While  he  comes  to  it  as 
his  guide  to  the  mercy-seat,  it  is  his  joy,  his  glory,  his  life ; 
but  when  he  carries  it  into  the  battle-field,  he  loses  his 
Shekinah,  and  that  in  which  he  gloried  is  profaned  by  the 
aliens  of  Askalon  and  Gath.  While  he  comes  to  the  altar 
of  the  cross  with  his  hands  washed  in  innocency,  he 
receives  the  blessings  of  a  propitiation;  but  when  he 
ventures  to  mutilate  the  altar  that  he  may  secure  weapons 
for  theological  combat,  he  is  in  danger  of  being  scathed  by 
the  fire  which  but  now  had  kindled  his  sacrifice.  Hence 
there  is  nothing  which  revelation  so  carefully  guards  as  the 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  AND  THE  CROSS.  307 

cross  of  Jesus  Christ.  Around  this  the  angels  make  their 
circles,  with  holy  desire  to  look  into  its  mysteries.  By  this, 
Moses  and  the  prophets  take  their  stand,  and  pour  around 
it  the  jasper  light  of  visions  and  the  glory  of  prophetic 
oracles.  Here  are  trains  of  typical  priests,  attended  by  the 
prefigurations  of  bleeding  victims  and  sacrificial  patterns. 
By  the  scene  of  agony  and  the  cross,  apostles  and  martyrs 
bear  "witness,  and  watch,  and  pray.  Of  the  cross  they 
write  and  speak  ;  for  the  cross  they  toil,  and  suffer,  and  die. 
The  cross  is  their  only  altar,  their  highest  boast,  their 
strength  in  life,  their  hope  in  death,  their  song  in  heaven. 
What  a  mysterious  hush  comes  over  the  soul  at  the  mention 
of  Grethsemane  !  What  a  holy  charm  is  there  in  the  cross  ! 
How  deeply  the  heart,  in  its  best  moments,  responds  to 
the  name  of  Christ  crucified ! — 

Is  it  not  strange,  the  darkest  hour 

That  ever  dawn'd  on  sinful  earth 
Should  touch  the  heart  with  softer  power 
For  comfort,  than  an  angel's  mirth  ? 
That  to  the  cross  the  mourner's  eye  should  turn, 
Sooner  than  where  the  stars  of  Christmas  bum  ? 

Tet  so  it  is  :  for  duly  there 

The  bitter  herbs  of  earth  are  set. 
Till  temper'd  by  the  Saviour's  prayer, 
And  with  the  Saviour's  life-blood  wet, 
They  turn  to  sweetness,  and  drop  holy  balm, 
Soft  as  imprison'd  martyr's  death-bed  calm. 

But  those  only  know  this  "  sweetness"  who  have  felt  the 
bitterness  of  sin,  and  have  come  to  Calvary  hopeless  of 
healing  balm  from  every  other  source.  Nor  has  any 
human  psalmist  ever  breathed  the  spirit  of  Gethsemane  or 
the  cross  until  his  own  heart  has  been  agonized  by  a  sense 
of  its  sinfulness,  and,  by  virtue  of  the  Eedeemer's  blood, 
has  been  melted  into  loving  sympathy  with  his  suffering 
Lord.  No  mere  genius  can  worthily  sing  of  the  "agony 
and  bloody  sweat."  No  unhallowed  poetic  intellect  has 
ever  produced  a  hymn  replete  with  the  Divine  life  and 
saving  power  of  the  cross.  Those  hymns  of  Gethsemane 
and  the  cross  which  are  most  precious  to  saintly  hearts, 
and  which  will  be  sung  with  deeper  and  deeper  feeling  by 
every  coming  generation  of  English  Christians,  are  from 
the  pens  of  those  whose  will  and  affections  have  been  most 


308  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

profoundly  hallowed  in  fellowship  with  Him  whose  soul, 
for  our  sakes,  was  "  exceeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death." 
One  of  these  has  said,  "The  week  before  Easter,  1757,  I 
had  such  an  amazing  view  of  the  agony  of  Christ  in  the 
garden,  as  I  know  not  well  how  to  describe.  I  was  lost  in 
wonder  and  adoration  ;  and  the  impression  was  too  deep, 
I  believe,  ever  to  be  obliterated.  I  shall  say  no  more  of 
this ;  but  only  remark,  that,  notwithstanding  all  that  is 
talked  about  the  sufferings  of  Jesus,  none  can  know  any- 
thing of  them,  but  by  the  Holy  Ghost ;  and  I  believe,  that 
he  that  knows  most  knows  but  very  little.  It  was  then  I 
made  the  first  part  of  my  hymn  '  On  the  Passion.' "  That 
hymn  remains,  thus  : — 

Come,  all  ye  chosen  saints  of  God 
That  long  to  feel  the  cleansing  blood, 
In  pensive  pleasures  join  with  me 
To  sing  of  sad  G-ethsemane. 

Gethsemane,  the  olive  press ! 
(And  why  so  call'd  let  Christians  guess,) 
Fit  name,  fit  place,  where  vengeance  strove. 
And  grip'd  and  grappled  hard  with  love. 

'Twas  here  the  Lord  of  life  appeared, 

And  sigh'd,  and  groan'd,  and  pray'd,  and  fear'd  ! 

Bore  all  Incarnate  God  could  bear, 

"With  strength  enough,  and  none  to  spare. 

The  powers  of  hell  united  pressed. 

And  squeezed  His  heart,  and  bruised  His  breast. 

What  dreadful  conflicts  raged  within. 

When  sweat  and  blood  forced  through  the  skin ! 

Despatched  from  heaven  an  angel  stood, 
Amazed  to  find  Him  bathed  in  blood  ; 
Adored  by  angels,  and  obeyed ; 
But  lower  now  than  angels  made ! 

He  stood  to  strengthen,  not  to  fight : 
Justice  exacts  its  utmost  mite. 
This  Victim  vengeance  will  pursue  : 
He  undertook,  and  must  go  through. 

Three  favoured  servants,  left  not  far, 
Were  bid  to  wait  and  watch  the  war ; 
But  Christ  withdrawn,  what  watch  we  keep 
To  shun  the  sight,  they  sank  in  sleep. 

Backwards  and  forwards  thrice  He  ran, 
As  if  He  sought  some  help  from  man  : 
Or  wished,  at  least,  they  would  condole 
('Twaa  all  they  could)  His  tortured  soul. 


HYMNS  FEOM  GETHSEMANE  AND  THE  CROSS.  309 

Whate'er  He  sought  for,  there  was  none : 
Our  Captain  fought  the  field  alone. 
Soon  as  the  Chief  to  battle  led, 
That  moment  every  soldier  fled. 

Mysterious  conflict !  dark  disguise ! 
Hid  from  all  creatures'  peering  eyes. 
Angels  astonish' d  view'd  the  scene, 
And  wonder  yet  what  all  could  mean. 

O  Mount  of  Olives,  sacred  grove  ! 

O  garden,  scene  of  tragic  love ! 

What  bitter  herbs  thy  beds  produce ! 

How  rank  their  scent,  how  harsh  their  juice  ! 

Rare  virtues  now  these  herbs  contain  ; 
The  Saviour  suck'd  out  all  their  bane. 
My  mouth  with  those  if  conscience  cram, 
I'll  eat  them  with  the  Paschal  Lamb. 

O  Kedron,  gloomy  brook,  how  foul 
Thy  black,  polluted  waters  roll ! 
No  tongue  can  tell,  but  some  can  taste, 
The  filth  that  into  thee  was  cast. 

In  Eden's  garden  there  was  food 

Of  every  kind  for  man  while  good ; 

But  banish' d  hence,  we  flee  to  thee,  i 

O  garden  of  Gethsemane ! 

The  hymnist  who  thus  so  deeply  sympathized  with  his 
agonizing  Lord  was  Joseph  Hart,  who,  from  1760  to  1768, 
was  the  earnest,  eloquent,  and  much-beloved  minister  of 
the  congregation  which  met  in  the  old  wooden  meeting- 
house in  Jewin  Street,  built  in  1672  for  the  well-known 
William  Jenkyn.  Born  in  London,  about  the  year  1712, 
and  brought  up  by  j)ious  parents,  he  began,  when 
entering  on  manhood,  to  be  deeply  anxious  about  his 
personal  salvation.  For  seven  years  his  life  was,  as  he 
tells  us,  "an  uneasy,  restless  round  of  sinning  and 
repenting,  working  and  dreading.  At  length  the  Lord 
was  pleased  to  comfort  me  a  little  by  enabling  me  to 
appropriate,  in  some  measure,  the  merits  of  the  Saviour  to 
my  own  soul.  In  this  blessed  state  my  continuance  was 
but  short,  for,  rushing  impetuously  into  notions  beyond  my 
experience,  I  hasted  to  make  myself  a  Christian  by  mere 
doctrine,  adopting  other  men's  opinions  before  I  had  tried 
them ;  and  set  up  for  a  great  light  in  religion,  disregarding 


310  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

the  internal  work  of  grace  began  in  my  soul  by  tlie  Holy 
Ghost.     This  liberty,  assumed  by  myself  and  not  given  by 
Christ,  soon  grew  to  libertinism,  in  which  I  took  large 
progressive  strides,  and  advanced  to  a  dreadful  height,  both 
in  principle  and  practice.     In  a  word,  I  ran  such  dangerous 
lengths  both  of  carnal  and  spiritual  wickedness,  that  I  even 
outwent  professed  infidels,  and  shocked  the  irreligious  and 
profane  with  my  horrid  blasphemies   and   monstrous  im- 
pieties.  .    ,        In  this  abominable   state  I   continued  for 
more  than  ten  years.   .    .    ,  Then  I  began  by  degrees  to 
reform  a  little,  and  to  live  in  a  more  soberly  and  orderly 
manner.  .   .   .  For  several  years  I  went  on  in  this  easy,  cool, 
smooth,  and  indolent  manner,  with  a  lukewarm,  insipid 
kind  of  religion.   .  .   .  But  the  fountains  of  the  great  deeps 
of  my  sinful  nature  were  not  broken  up.    .  .   .  Nor  was 
the   blood    of  Christ   effectually  applied  to   my   soul.     I 
looked  on  His  death,  indeed,  as  the  grand  sacrifice  for  sin, 
but  I  did  not  see  the  inestimable  value  of  His  blood  and 
righteousness  clearly  enough  to  make  me  abhor  myself,  and 
count  all  things  but  dung  and  dross.     On  the  contrary, 
when  I  used  to  read  the  Scriptures  (which  I  now  did  con- 
stantly, both  in  English  and  the  original  languages),  though 
my  mind  was  often  affected,  and  my  understanding  illumi- 
nated by  many  passages  that  treated  of  the  Saviour,  yet  I 
was  so  far  from  seeing  or  owning  that  there  was  such  a 
necessity  for  His  death,  and  that  it  could  be  of  such  infinite 
value  as  is  represented,  that  I  have  often  resolved — oh,  the 
horrible  depth  of  man's  fall,  and  the  desperate  wickedness 
of  the  human  heart ! — that  I  never  would  believe  it.     After 
a  time,   I  fell  into    a    deep    despondency   of  mind,   and, 
shunning  all  company,  I  went  about  alone,  bewailing  my 
sad  and  dark  condition.   .  .  .  This  suffering  was  aggravated 
by  physical  infirmity  and  pain,  and  in  this  sad  state  I  went 
moping  about  till  Whit  Sunday,  1757,  when  I  haj)pened  to 
go  in  the  afternoon  to  the  Moravian  ChajDel  in  Fetter  Lane. 
The  minister  j)reached  from  Eev.  iii.  10.     I  was  much  im- 
pressed.     I   thought   of   hastening   to   Tottenham   Court 
Chapel,  but   presently  altered  my  mind,  and  returned  to 
my  own  house.     I  was  hardly  got  home,  when  I  felt  myself 
melting  away  into  a  strange  softness  of  affection  which 
made  me  fling  myself  on  my  knees   before  God.      My 
horrors   were  immediately  expelled,  and  such  light   and 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  AND  THE  CROSS.  311 

comfort  flowed  into  my  heart  as  no  words  can  paint.  The 
Lord,  by  His  Spirit  of  love,  came  not  in  a  visionary  manner 
into  m.j  brain,  but  with  such  Divine  power  and  energy  into 
my  soul  that  I  was  lost  in  blissful  amazement.  I  cried 
out,  'What,  me.  Lord?'  His  Spirit  answered  in  me, 
'Yes,  thee  ! '  I  objected,  '  But  I  have  been  so  unspeak- 
ably vile  and  wicked  ! '  The  answer  was,  '  I  pardon  thee 
freely  and  fully ! '  The  alteration  I  then  felt  in  my  soul 
was  as  sudden  and  palpable  as  that  which  is  experienced 
by  a  person  staggering  and  almost  sinking  under  a  burden 
when  it  is  immediately  taken  from  his  shoulders.  Tears 
ran  in  streams  from  my  eyes  for  a  considerable  while,  and 
I  was  so  swallowed  up  in  joy  and  thankfulness  that  I 
hardly  knew  where  I  was.  I  threw  myself  willingly  into 
my  Saviour's  hands;  lay  weeping  at  His  feet,  wholly 
resigned  to  His  will,  and  only  begging  that  I  might,  if  He 
were  graciously  pleased  to  permit  it,  be  of  some  service  to 
His'  Church  and  people.  .  .  .  Jesus  Christ  and  Him 
crucified  is  now  the  only  thing  I  desire  to  know.  AH 
things  to  me  are  rich  only  when  they  are  enriched  with  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb."  In  this  remai-kable  course  of  soul 
discipline,  and  this  deep  experience  of  Divine  mercy  through 
the  sufferings  and  death  of  the  Saviour  whom  he  had 
blasphemed,  is  to  be  found  the  secret  of  that  spiritual  fresh- 
ness and  touching  power  of  his  hymn  on  the  "  passion  and 
the  cross."  None  but  a  heart  like  his  could  have  uttered 
his  hymn  on  Grood  Friday  : — 

Oh !  what  a  sad  and  doleful  night 

Preceded  that  day's  mom, 
When  darkness  seized  the  Lord  of  light. 

And  sin  by  Chi-ist  was  borne ! 

When  our  intolerable  load 

Upon  His  soul  was  laid, 
And  the  vindictive  wrath  of  God 

Flamed  furious  on  His  head ! 

We  in  our  Conqueror  well  may  boast : 
•  •        For  none  but  God  alone 

Can  know  how  dear  the  victory  cost, 
How  hardly  it  was  won. 

Forth  from  the  garden  f uUy  tried, 

Our  bruised  Champion  came, 
To  suffer  what  remain' d  beside 

Of  pain,  and  grief,  and  shame. 


312  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Mock'd,  spat  upon,  and  crown'd  with  thorns, 

A  spectacle  He  stood  ; 
His  back  with  scourges  lashed  and  torn, 

A  victim  bathed  in  blood. 

NaU'd  to  the  cross  throug-h  hands  and  feet. 

He  hung  in  open  'vriew  ; 
To  make  His  sorrows  quite  complete, 

By  God  deserted  too ! 

Through  nature's  works  the  woes  He  felt 

With  soft  infection  ran  ; 
The  hardest  things  could  break  or  melt, 

Except  the  heart  of  man ! 

This  day  before  Thee,  Lord,  we  come, 

Oh,  melt  our  hearts,  or  break  ; 
For,  should  we  now  continue  dumb. 

The  very  stones  would  speak ! 

True,  Thou  hast  paid  the  heavy  debt, 

And  made  believers  clean ;  « 

But  he  knows  notliing  of  it  yet 
Who  is  not  grieved  at  sin. 

A  faithful  friend  of  grief  partakes ; 

But  union  can  be  none 
Betwixt  a  heart  like  melting  wax 

And  hearts  as  hard  as  stone  ; 

Betwixt  a  Head  diffusing  blood. 

And  members  sound  and  whole  ; 
Betwixt  an  agonizing  God, 

And  an  unfeeling  soul. 

Lord,  my  long'd  happiness  is  full, 

When  I  can  go  with  Thee 
To  Golgotha:  the  place  of  skull 

Is  heav'n  on  earth  to  me ! 

With,  a  soTil  thus  finding  its  heaven  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  and  overflowing  with  the  love  of  Christ,  and  pity 
and  compassion  for  those  whose  sins  were  laid  upon  Jesus, 
and  to  whom  his  Divine  Master  was  saying,  "  Come  unto 
me,"  Mr.  Hart  had  his  way  opened  to  the  pulpit'  in  Jewin 
Street,  where,  for  eight  years,  he  zealously  and  afi'ection- 
ately  pressed  the  invitations  of  his  Lord  upon  the  hearts 
of  his  fellow-men.  Nor  can  the  spirit  of  his  ministry  be 
better  expressed  than  in  his  simple,  warm,  and  persuasive 
hymn,  entitled,  "  Come,  and  welcome,  to  Jesus  Christ :  " — 


HYMNS  FKOM  GETHSEMANE  AND  THE  CEOSS.  313 

Come,  ye  sinners,  poor  and  wretched, 

Weak  and  wounded,  sick,  and  sore ; 
Jesus  ready  stands  to  save  you. 

Full  of  pity,  joined  with  power, 
He  is  able. 

He  is  willing ;  doubt  no  more. 

Ho !  ye  needy,  come,  and  welcome, 

God's  free  bounty  glorify ; 
True  belief,  and  true  repentance, 

Ev'ry  grace  that  brings  us  nigh, 
Without  money. 

Come  to  Jesus  Christ  and  buy. 

Let  not  conscience  make  you  linger. 

Nor  of  fitness  fondly  dream ; 
All  the  fitness  He  requireth, 

Is  to  feel  your  need  of  Him. 
This  He  gives  you  ; 

'Tis  the  Spirit's  rising  beam. 

Come,  ye  weary,  heavy-laden. 

Bruised  and  mangled  by  the  fall ; 
If  you  tarry  till  you're  better. 

You  will  never  come  at  all. 
Not  the  righteous, 

Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call. 

View  Him  grov'lling  in  the  garden, 

Lo  !  your  Maker  prostrate  lies ; 
On  the  bloody  tree  behold  Him ! 

Hear  Him  cry  before  He  dies, 
"  It  isfinish'd! " 

Sinner,  will  not  this  suffice  ? 

Lo  !  th'  incarnate  God  ascended 

Pleads  the  merits  of  His  blood ; 
Venture  on  Him,  venture  wholly. 

Let  no  other  trust  intrude. 
None  but  Jesus 

Can  do  helpless  sinners  good. 

Saints  and  angels,  join'd  in  concert, 

Sing  the  praises  of  the  Lamb  ; 
While  the  blissful  seats  of  heaven 

Sweetly  echo  with  His  name. 
HaUeluiah ! 

Sinners  here  may  sing  the  same. 

All  who  are  familiar  with  hymns  of  the  cross  will  always 
associate  the  names  of  two  hymnists  in  loving  companion- 
ship at  the  Saviour's  feet,  the  names  of  two  men  of  differ- 


314  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS, 

ent  training  and  different  temper,  in  some  tilings  alike, 
and  yet  unlike — Newton  and  Cowper — more  happy  in  their 
union  as  hymnists  than  in  the  fruit  of  their  spiritual 
fellowship.  There  was  Newton  on  the  banks  of  the  Ouse, 
with  his  iron  frame  still  unbroken  by  the  hardships, 
changes,  and  excesses  of  an  ungodly  life,  spent  in  hostile 
climates  and  on  shipboard,  now  giving  his  redeemed 
energies  to  Christ,  and  pouring  forth  the  peace,  and  joy, 
and  hoj)e,  and  love  of  his  regenerated  nature  from  the 
pulpit,  and  in  his  Olney  hymns.  Ever  alive  to  the  virtue 
of  the  atonement,  he  touchingly  records  the  story  of  his  own 
conversion  in  the  hymn  which  he  teaches  us  to  sing  while 
"  looking  at  the  cross  "  : — 

In  evil  long  I  took  delight, 

Unawed  by  shame  or  fear, 
Till  a  new  object  struck  my  sight, 

And  stopp'd  my  wild  career. 

I  saw  One  hanging  on  the  tree. 

In  agonies  and  blood, 
Who  fixed  His  languid  eyes  on  me, 

As  near  Hi^  cross  I  stood. 

Sure  never  till  my  latest  breath 

Can  I  forget  that  look ; 
It  secm'd  to  charge  me  with  His  death, 

Though  not  a  word  He  spoke. 

My  conscience  felt  and  own'd  the  guilt, 

And  plunged  me  in  despair ; 
I  saw  my  sins  His  blood  had  spilt, 

And  help'd  to  nail  Him  there. 

Alas  !  I  knew  not  what  I  did, 

But  now  my  tears  are  vain  ; 
Where  shall  my  trembling  soul  be  hid  ? 

For  I  the  Lord  have  slain. 

A  second  look  He  gave,  which  said 

"  I  freely  all  forgive  ; 
The  blood  is  for  thy  ransom  paid, 

I  die  that  thou  may'st  live." 

Thus,  while  His  death  my  sin  displays 

In  all  its  blackest  hue, 
(Such  is  the  mystery  of  grace), 

It  seals  my  pardon  too. 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  AND  THE  CROSS.  315 

With  pleasing  grief,  and  mournful  joy. 

My  spirit  now  is  fill'd, 
That  I  should  such  a  life  destroy, 

Yet  live  by  Him  I  kill'd. 

There,  too,  was  the  timid,  gentle  Cowper,  ever  tremu- 
lous as  lie  thought  of  eternal  woe.     There,  on  the  banks 
of  the  same  quiet  Ouse,  brooding  over  the  inward  horrors 
of  his  diseased  imagination,  yet   ever   proving   to  those 
around  him  the  goodness   of  his  heart,   and   out  of  his 
gracious    treasures    preparing    blessings    for   the    future 
generations  of  those- who  love  purity,  beauty,  and  truth. 
Unhappy,  and  yet  happy  Cowper !     Who  does  not  weep 
over  his  sorrows?      Who  does  not  bless  heaven  for  his 
genius,  his  devotion,  and  his  works  ?  AVho  does  not,  as  he 
speeds  past  on  the  rail,  look  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile  upon 
his  quiet  birth-place,  Berkhampstead,  still  reposing  in  its 
verdant  hollow  ?     And  few,  perhaps,  as  the  old  tower  of 
his  father's  church  is  lost  to  sight,  will  fail  to  indulge  in 
pensive  thoughts  about  the  pensive   man,  who,    after  a 
youth-tide  spent  "  from  morning  to  night  in  giggling  and 
making   giggle,"    was   found    shattered    and   broken    in 
spirits,  victimized  by  morbid  melancholy,  living,  as  he  tells 
us,  like  one   descending  a  ladder  which  dipped  into  the 
infernal  regions,  until  he  hung  on  the  last  frail  step,  only 
needing  a  touch  to  send  him  for  ever  into  the  fiery  abyss. 
Now  at  Huntingdon,  now  at  Olney,  and  then  at  Weston. 
Ministered  to,  as  by   angels,  by  his  Mary,  Mrs.  Unwin, 
Lady  Austen,   and   Lady  Hesketh ;    tormented   ever  and 
anon  by  dark  fiendish  thoughts  about  himself,  he  writes 
for  amusement  or  for  relief ;  and  with  a  fancy  ever  fresh, 
a  poetic  genius   as  pvire  and  clear  as  the  morning,  and, 
amidst  all  his  dreadful  fears,  with  a  heart  most  tenderly 
alive  to  good,  and  most  warmly  devoted  to  his  Eedeemer, 
he  graced  his  friend  Newton's    Olney  Hymn-book   with 
many  a  precious  gem,  and  taught,  all  who  have  followed 
him  to  the  cross  to  sing  of  the  Blessed  One  in  whose 
Divine  presence  he  and  the  kind  companions  of  his  fitful 
life  are  now  for  ever  at  rest.     He  now  realizes  the  hopes 
which  in  one  of  his  happier  moments  on  earth  he  uttered 
in   that   immortal   hymn    of   "Praise    for    the  Fountain 
Opened  ;  "  that  hymn  that  will  always  be  on  some  happy 
lips: — 


316  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

There  is  a  foimtain  fill'd  with  blood, 

Drawn  from  Emmaniiers  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  ilood. 

Lose  all  their  guilty  stains. 

The  dying  thief  rejoiced  to  see 

That  fountain  in  his  day  ; 
And  there  have  I,  as  vile  as  he, 

Wash'd  all  my  sins  away. 

Dear  dying  Lamb,  Thy  precious  blood 

Shall  never  lose  its  power, 
Till  all  the  ransom' d  Church  of  God 

Be  saved  to  sin  no  more. 

E'er  since  by  faith  I  saw  the  stream 

Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme. 

And  shall  be  tiU  I  die. 

Then  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song, 

I'U  sing  Thy  power  to  save. 
When  this  poor  lisping,  stamm'ring  tongue 

Lies  silent  in  the  grave. 

Lord,  I  believe  Thou  hast  prepared 

(Unworthy  though  I  be) 
For  me  a  blood-bought  free  reward, 

A  golden  harp  for  me  ! 

'Tis  strung,  and  tuned,  for  endless  years, 

And  formed  by  power  Divine, 
To  sound  in  God  the  Father's  ears 

No  other  name  but  Thine. 

Many  consecrated  singers  gather  around  the  cross ; 
generation  after  generation  they  press  upward  to  the  holy 
scene ;  and  each  brings  its  tributary  hymns.  The  devoted 
genius  i^  of  all  variety ;  the  manner  of  the  music  changes 
as  the  hymnists  follow  each  other ;  but  amidst  all  changes 
of  time,  all  variations  of  circumstance,  rhythm,  rhyme, 
metre,  and  tone,  the  theme  is  the  same,  ever  fresh,  never 
exhausted — the  holy,  the  mysterious,  the  life-giving  cross. 
Greek  choristers  may  pass  away,  Latin  hymnists  may  leave 
the  world — a  Wesley,  a  Toplady,  a  Hart,  a  Newton,  and  a 
Cowper  may  cease  their  mortal  psalmody,  but  voices  come 
on  still ;  the  hymning  does  not  cease.  Witness  this  strain 
that  floated  across  the  Irish  Channel  a  few  years  ago  from 
one  who  still  lives  to  sing  on  a  "  Good  Friday."  "  And 
it  was  about  the  sixth  hour,  and  there  was  darkness  all 
over  the  land  until  the  ninth  hour"  : — 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  A2^D  THE  CROSS.  317 

Dark  and  dim  the  daylight  rose, 
Destined  with  Thy  life  to  close  ; 
With  the  life  Thou  didst  assume 
As  Thy  passport  throtigh  the  tomb  ; 
But  a  drop  in  the  great  sea, 
Lord,  of  Thine  eternity. 

On  the  tree  accursed  dying, 

Death  and  hell  beneath  Thee  lying, 

There  their  doom  long  look'd  for  meet, 

Crush' d  beneath  Thy  bruised  feet ; 

Bitter  scorn  and  cruel  pain 

Do  their  -worst  with  Thee  in  vain, 

Por  Thou  answerest  not  again ! 

Prayers  for  them  are  Thy  replies 
To  Thy  taunting  enemies  ; 
From  Thy  jjierced  side  doth  flow 
Medicine  for  all  our  woe. 

Thy  dear  arms  outstretch' d  we  see, 
Drawing  the  whole  world  to  Thee  ; 
And  that  head  so  meekly  bow'd 
'Neath  the  momentary  cloud. 
Breathes,  with  its  departing  breath, 
Life  accomplished  in  death. 

Lo  !  the  veil  is  rent  asunder. 
Darkness  over  head,  and  under  ; 
Graves  are  open'd,  earth  doth  quake. 
And  the  very  dead  awake. 

Angels  who  beside  Thee  kept 
Watch,  and  o'er  Thy  passion  wept. 
Now  before  Thee,  at  the  gate 
Of  Thy  paradise,  do  wait ; 
Hymns  celestial  round  Thee  pouring. 
As  they  bend,  the  might  adoring 
Of  Thy  Godhead  laid  to  rest 
In  the  regions  of  the  blest. 

Savioui-  of  Thy  people !     Now, 
With  Thy  wounded  hands  and  brow. 
Gone  to  plead  beside  the  Throne, 
Thy  redemption  for  Thine  own, 
Grace  to  seek  in  large  supplies, 
Even  for  Thine  enemies ; 

Hear  us  when  to  Thee  we  cry, 
Make  us  feel  that  Thou  art  nigh, 
Help  us  when  in  time  of  need, 
We  Thy  great  deliv'rance  plead  ; 
Cleanse  us  with  Thy  precious  blood, 
0  Thou  gentle  Lamb  of  God ! 


318  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

By  Thy  cross  and  passion  save  us  ; 
By  the  hope  those  suff' rings  gave  us ; 
By  Thine  agony  and  sweat ; 
By  Thy  prayers  on  Olivet  ; 
By  Thy  sighs  and  by  Thy  tears  ; 
By  Thy  people's  hopes  and  fears ; 
By  the  peace  vouchsafed  to  Thee 
When  in  dark  Gethsemane  ! 

By  the  sacramental  tide 
Gushing  from  Thy  wounded  side ; 
By  the  load  of  others'  sin, 
That  oppress'd  Thy  soul  within  ; 
By  the  wondrous  love  Thou  bore  us, 
That  by  death  Thou  shouldst  restore  us ; 
By  that  mercy  and  that  love, 
Hear  us,  Lord,  in  heav'n  above  ! 

In  the  midnight  of  our  sadness, 

In  the  noontide  of  our  gladness, 

Through  each  changing  scene  of  life, 

Calm  and  sunshine,  storm  and  strife ; 

At  the  last  dread  parting  hour, 

In  Thy  judgment's  might  and  power — 

Lord,  deliver  and  defend  us, 
Let  "Thy  Spirit  still  attend  us ; 
Be  Thine  eye  our  leading  star, ' 
Guiding  upward  from  afar  ; 
Here, — the  surety  Thou  art  nigh, 
There, — the  blest  reality ! 

This  fine  help  to  our  devotion  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
Holy  Cross  is  from  the  "  Parish  Musings"  of  John  S.  B. 
Monsell,  now  the  vicar  of  Egham,  in  Surrey.  And  every 
heart  that  has  learnt  to  utter  a  daily  litany,  and  with 
holy  fervour  to  cry,  "  By  Thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat ; 
By  Thy  cross  and  passion.  Good  Lord  deliver  us !  "  will 
ever  think  of  the  reverend  hymnist  as  one  whose 
"Musings"  have  kindled  holy  fire  in  many,  many  a 
heart  beside  his  own.  Nor  can  our  gratitude  ever  equal 
the  blessing  which  comes  upon  England  in  answer  to  the 
metrical  prayers  of  her  pious  laymen ;  laymen  whose 
simple  and  earnest  piety  adorns  many  a  lordly  home  of 
the  land ;  laymen,  who  wear  their  knightly  honours  in 
humble  dependence  on  their  Saviour ;  and  who,  like  Sir 
Robert  Grant,  have  mind  and  heart  enough  to  lead  the 
devotions  of  the  multitudes  around  them,  in  solemn, 
litanies  like  this : — 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  AWD  THE  CROSS.  319 

Saviour,  when  in  dust  to  Thee 

Low  we  bend  the  adoring  knee  ; 
When  repentant  to  the  skies 
.  Scarce  we  lift  our  weeping  eyes  ; 

Oh  !  by  all  the  pains  and  woe 
Suffer' d  once  for  man  below, 
Bending  from  Thy  throne  on  high, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany ! 

By  Thy  helpless  infant  years  ; 

By  Thy  life  of  want  and  tears  ;  i 

By  Thy  days  of  sore  distress 

In  the  savage  wilderness  ; 

By  the  dread  mysterious  hour 

Of  th'  insulting  tempter's  power : 

Turn,  oh,  turn  a  favouring  eye, 

Hear  our  solemn  Litany  1 

By  the  sacred  griefs  that  wept 
O'er  the  grave  where  Lazarus  slept ; 
By  the  boding  tears  that  flowed 
Over  Salem's  loved  abode  ; 
By  the  anguish'd  sigh  that  told 
Treachery  lurk'd  within  Thy  fold  ; 
From  Thy  seat  above  the  sky, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany ! 

By  Thine  hour  of  dire  despair  ; 
By  Thine  agony  of  prayer  ; 
By  the  cross,  the  nail,  the  thorn, 
Piercing  spear,  and  torturing  scorn ; 
By  the  gloom  that  veil'd  the  skies 
O'er  the  dreadful  sacrifice  ! 
Listen  to  our  humble  cry, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

By  Thy  deep  expiring  groan ; 
By  the  sad  sepulchral  stone  ; 
By  the  vault,  whose  dark  abode 
Held  in  vain  the  rising  God  ; 
Oh  !  from  earth  to  heaven  restored, 
Mighty  re-ascended  Lord, 
Listen,  listen  to  the  cry 
Of  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

Calvary  was  a  scene  of  mournful  attraction  to  the 
"women  wLich  followed  Jesus  from  Galilee,  ministering 
unto  Him.  Among  which  was  Mary  Magdalene,  and 
Mary  the  mother  of  James  and  Joses,  and  the  mother  of 
Zebedee's  children."  Blessed  women !  To  them  it  was  a 
dark  day  indeed.      That  cross  was  to  them  a  bitter  cross ; 


320  HYMN-WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

for  it  was  the  cross  of  their  beloved  Master.  But  they 
found  life  in  that  very  cross  ;  and  out  of  that  deep  darkness 
came  the  light  of  life,  healing  for  ever  their  broken  hearts. 
Women  have  never  ceased  to  surround  the  cross.  They 
come  from  age  to  age,  not  from  Galilee  merely,  but  from 
far  off  among  the  Grentiles.  Theirs  has  been  the  deepest 
homage  ;  theirs  the  warmest  devotion  ;  theirs  the  profound- 
est  sympathy;  theirs  the  sweetest  songs.  Among  the 
women,  the  English  women,  who  have  loved  the  cross,  and 
sung  of  its  salvation,  Caroline  Bowles,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Southey,  has  left  one  touching  proof  of  her  own  living, 
happy  interest  in  her  Saviour's  death.  It  comes  to  us  in  a 
hymn  which  devoutly  records  her  own  heart's  experience 
on  Calvary ;  while  it  affords  the  secret  of  that  Christian 
tenderness  which  she  exempHfied  as  the  gentle  and  pious 
helpmeet  of  the  declining  and  departing  Southey.  Her 
hymn  beautifully  shows  the  harmony  between  reverent 
peacefulness  and  holy  joy  in  all  true  devotion  to  the  cross  : 
thus  : — 

Down  from  the  willow  bough 

My  slumbering  harp  I'll  take. 
And  bid  its  silent  strings 

To  heavenly  themes  awake ; 
Peaceful  let  its  breathings  be 
When  I  sing  of  Calvary. 

Love,  love  divine  I  sing ; 

Oh  for  a  seraph's  lyre, 
Bathed  in  Siloa's  stream, 

And  touch' d  with  living  fire  ; 
Lofty,  pure  the  strain  should  be 
When  I  sing  of  Calvary. 

Love,  love  on  earth  appears. 

The  wretched  throng  His  way ; 
He  beareth  all  their  griefs, 

He  wipes  their  tears  away  ! 
Soft  and  sweet  the  strain  should  be, 
Saviour,  when  I  sing  of  Thee. 

He  saw  me  as  He  passed, 

In  hopeless  sorrow  lie, 
Condemned  and  doomed  to  death. 

And  no  salvation  nigh  ; 
Loud  and  long  the  strain  should  be, 
When  I  sing  His  love  to  me. 


HYMNS  FROM  GETHSEMANE  AJS^D  THE  CEOSS.  321 

"I  die  for  thee,"  He  said — 

Behold  the  cross  arise ; 
And  lo,  He  bows  His  head — 

He  bows  His  head  and  dies. 
Soft,  my  harp,  thy  breathing  be, 
Let  me  weep  on  Calvary. 

He  lives  !  again  He  lives ! 

I  hear  the  voice  of  love, 
He  comes  to  soothe  my  fears, 

And  draw  my  soul  above ; 
Joyful  now  the  strain  should  be, 
When  I  sing  of  Calvary. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

FUNERAL     HYMNS. 

"  So  when  even  was  come,  the  Lord  of  the  vineyard  saith  imto  his 
steward,  Call  the  labourers,  and  give  them  theii-  hire." 

Who  has  not  gone  to  the  grave-side  often  enoiigli,  even 
during  a  short  life,  to  become  mournfully  familiar  with 
the  solemn  magnificence  of  our  English  Burial  Ser- 
vice? It  can  scarcely  be  said  which  is  the  more  deeply 
impressive,  the  holy  fervour,  reverent  submission,  soaring 
faith,  and  heavenward  swell  of  the  jDrayers,  or  the  simple 
grandeur  of  the  anthems,  awing  and  melting  us  by  turns. 
Now  the  soul  kindles,  and  now  it  softens  into  tears ;  and 
now  again  its  death-song  becomes  intense  with  prayerful 
feeling,  as  the  utterances  rise  : — 

In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death  : 

Of  whom  may  we  seek  for  succour 

But  of  Thee, '0  Lord! 

Who  for  our  sins  art  justly  displeased. 

Yet,  0  Lord  God  most  holy, 

0  Lord  most  mighty, 

O  holy  and  most  merciful  Saviour, 

Deliver  us  not  into  the  bitter  pains 

Of  eternal  death ! 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  the  secrets  of  our  hearts ; 

Shut  not  Thy  merciful  ears  to  our  prayer  ; 

But  spare  us.  Lord  most  holy, 

0  God  most  mighty, 

O  holy  and  merciful  Saviour, 

Thou  most  worthy  Judge  eternal, 

Suffer  us  not  at  our  last  hour, 

For  any  pains  of  death, 

To  f aU  from  Thee  ! 


FUNERAL  HYMNS.  323 

This  is  an  ancient  hymn.  It  comes  to  us  borne  along  from 
generation  to  generation  by  the  voices  of  nearly  a  thousand 
years.  Just  about  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century, 
there  was  a  Swiss  monk  in  the  celebrated  monastery  of  St. 
Gall,  whose  name  was  Notker.  If  not  "  slow  of  speech," 
he  lisped,  and  was,  therefore,  nicknamed  by  his  brethren, 
Balbulus.  His  defect  of  speech,  however,  as  in  the  case 
of  many  a  deep  thinker  and  bright  genius,  was  no  check 
upon  his  thoughts ;  he  was  a  quiet  thinker.  Nor  did  it 
prevent  the  play  of  his  somewhat  hallowed  imagination. 
As  he  watched  the  samphire-gatherers  fearfully  pendant 
over  the  brink  of  death,  as  they  pursued  their  perilous 
calling  on  the  precipices  around  St.  Gall,  he  caught  the 
suggestion  of  "  death  in  the  midst  of  life  ;  "  and  when  he 
saw  the  bridge-builders  at  Martinsbruck  exposing  them- 
selves every  moment  to  death,  in  order  to  secure  for  the 
living  a  safe  passage  over  danger,  the  suggestion  ripened 
into  a  fruitful  form  ;  and  his  monastery  was  taught  to 
sing  or  chant  the  anthem  which  soon  became  common  to 
entire  Christendom.  Notker  himself  died,  and  was  buried 
in  912;  but  his  funeral  hj'mn  will  never  die  while  any 
European  Christians  live  to  bury  their  dead  amidst  the 
solemnities  of  the  ancient  service  for  the  grave-side. 
Notker' s  hymn  long  formed  a  part  of  the  funeral  service  in 
Germany ;  and  Luther's  translation  of  it  is  still  with  us, 
rendered  into  English  thus — 

In  the  midst  of  life,  behold 
Death  hath  girt  us  round, 
Whom  for  help  then  shall  we  pray, 

Where  shall  grace  be  found  ? 
In  Thee,  O  Lord,  alone  ! 
We  rue  the  evil  we  have  done, 
That  Thy  wrath  on  us  hath  drawn. 
Holy  Lord  and  God ! 
Strong  and  holy  God ! 
Merciful  and  holy  Saviour, 

Eternal  God ! 
Leave  us  not  to  sink  beneath 
Those  dark  pains  of  bitter  death, 
Kyrie  eleison. 

In  the  midst  of  death,  the  jaws 

Of  hell  against  us  gape. 
Who  from  peril  dire  as  this 

Openeth  us  escape  ? 


324  HYMN-"WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

'Tis  Thou,  O  Lord,  alone ! 
Our  bitter  suffering  and  our  sin 
Pity  from  Thy  mercy  win, 

Holy  Lord  and  God ! 

Strong  and  holy  God  ! 
Merciful  and  holy  Saviour  ! 

Eternal  God ! 
Let  not  dread  our  souls  o'erwhelm, 
Of  the  dark  and  burning  realm, 

Kyrie  eleison. 

In  the  midst  of  hell  would  sin 

Drive  us  to  despair  ; 
Whither  shall  we  flee  away  ? 

Where  is  refuge,  where  ? 
With  Thee,  Lord  Christ,  alone  ! 
For  Thou  hast  shed  Thy  precious  blood, 
All  our  sins  Thou  makest  good. 

Holy  Lord  and  God  ! 

Strong  and  holy  God  ! 
Merciful  and  holy  Saviour  I 

Eternal  God, 
Leave  us  not  to  fall  on  death. 
From  the  hope  of  Thy  true  faith, 

Kyrie  eleison ! 

lu  the  year  1768,  as  the  month  of  May  was  closing, 
there  was  a  .great  gathering  in  the  burial  ground  of  BunhiU 
Fields.  The  crowd  was  densely  packed  around  an  open 
grave,  by  the  side  of  which  stood  the  Rev.  Andrew  Kins- 
man, of  Plymouth.  He  was  delivering  a  funeral  oration, 
in  the  course  of  which  he  said  of  the  departed: — "  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  knowing,  and,  I  will  say,  the  honour,  too, 
of  preaching  the  Gospel  to  his  aged  parents,  who  both 
died  in  the  faith.  I  knew  him  to  be  the  son  of  many 
prayers  years  ago  ;  and  from  this  knowledge,  as  soon  as  I 
had  read  his  '  Experience '  and  hymns  (believing  his  tender 
parents'  earnest  addresses  to  the  throne  of  grace  for  him 
were  in  some  measure  answered),  I  found  my  heart  warmed 
with  the  relation,  and  my  soul  knit  to  the  writer.  This 
love  led  me  eagerly  to  seek  after  a  personal  interview,  and, 
from  the  year  1759,  a  religious  and  literary  correspond- 
ence ensued.  Oh,  how  full  were  his  epistles  of  sound 
experience !  How  sweetly  did  he  write  of  Jesus  and  His 
great  salvation !  Since  that  we  have  loved  as  brethi-en 
and  servants  of  the  same  Master."  The  address  was 
ended,  and  then  the  multitude  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
sang: — 


FITNEEAL  HYMNS.  325 

Sons  of  Grod  by  bless'd  adoption, 

View  the  dead  with  steady  eyes ; 
What  is  sown  thus  in  corruption 

Shall  in  incorruption  rise. 
What  is  sown  in  death's  dishonour 

Shall  revive  to  glory's  light ; 
What  is  sown  in  this  weak  manner 

Shall  be  raised  in  matchless  might. 

Earthly  cavern,  to  thy  keeping 

We  commit  our  brother's  dust ; 
Keep  it  safely,  softly  sleeping, 

Till  our  Lord  demand  thy  trust. 
Sweetly  sleep,  dear  saint,  in  Jesus  : 

Thou  with  us  shalt  wake  from  death  ; 
Hold  he  cannot,  though  he  seize  us ; 

We  his  power  defy  by  faith. 

Jesus,  Thy  rich  consolations 

To  Thy  mourning  people  send ; 
May  we  all,  with  faith  and  patience, 

Wait  for  our  approaching  end. 
Keep  from  courage,  vain  or  vaimted ; 

For  our  change  our  hearts  prepare  : 
Give  us  confidence  undaunted. 

Cheerful  hope  and  godly  fear. 

The  funeral  liyinn  liad  been  written  by  the  one  whose 
dust  was  now  covered.  The  grave  was  closed,  and  the 
stone  which  was  laid  upon  it  is  still  there ;  and  those  who 
visit  the  spot  should  linger  awhile,  and  think  of  the  youth- 
ful errors  and  sins,  the  dark  conflicts,  the  bitter  tears,  the 
spiritual  struggles,  the  sound  conversion,  the  consecrated 
talents,  the  faithful  ministry,  and  the  fresh  and  fruitful 
hymns  of  Joseph  Hart;  and  when  they  have  caught  the 
fragrance  of  his  memory,  and  hear  the  songs  of  those  who 
still  thank  God  for  his  ministry  in  the  old  meeting-house  of 
Jewin  Street,  they  may  be  ready  to  chant  the  soothing  and 
assuring  hymn  which  arose,  in  some  solemn  moments,  nearly 
fifty  years  ago,  from  the  heart  of  Henry  Hart  Milman, 
whose  venerable  form  is  now  fast  bending  towards  the 
sepulchre  of  his  fathers,  as  if  in  token  that  the  hymn  will 
soon  serve  as  his  own  requiem  : — 

Brother,  thou  art  gone  before  us,  and  thy  saintly  soul  is  flown 
Where  tears  are  wiped  from  every  eye,  and  sorrow  is  unknown  ; 
From  the  burden  of  the  flesh,  and  from  care  and  fear  released, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 


326  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  toilsome  way  thou'st  travelled  o'er,  and  borne  the  heavy  load  ; 
But  Christ  has  taught  thy  weary  feet  to  reach  His  blest  abode : 
Thou'rt  sleeping  now,  like  Lazarus,  upon  his  Father's  breast, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Sin  can  never  taint  thee  now,  nor  doubt  thy  faith  assail ; 
Nor  thy  meek  trust  in  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Holy  Spirit  faU  : 
And  then  thou'rt  sure  to  meet  the  good,   whom  on  earth   thou 

lovedst  best. 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust,  the  solemn  priest  hath  said ; 
So  we  lay  the  turf  above  thee  now,  and  we  seal  thy  narrow  bed ; 
But  thy  spii'it,  brother,  soars  away  among  the  faithful  blest, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

And  when  the  Lord  shall  siunmon  us,  whom  thou  hast  left  behind, 
May  we,  untainted  by  the  world,  as  sure  a  welcome  find ! 
May  each,  like  thee,  depart  in  peace,  to  be  a  glorious  guest, 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

In  the  same  hallowed  burial-ground  with  Joseph  Hart 
lies  the  body  of  Susanna  "Wesley,  the  mother  of  John 
Wesley  and  Charles,  the  Methodist  hymnist.  She  finished 
her  course  in  a  chamber  at  the  very  top  of  the  old  build- 
ing at  Moorfields.  That  chamber,  during  her  parting 
moments,  was  the  scene  of  intense  devotion  ;  all  the  saintly 
woman's  daughters  sat  on  her  bedside,  and  sang  a  requiem, 
to  her  parting  soul — such  a  requiem,  it  may  be,  as  her  own 
son  has  given  us : — 

Happy  soul,  thy  days  are  ended, 

AH  thy  mourning  days  below  ; 
Go,  by  angel  guards  attended, 

To  the  sight  of  Jesus  go  ! 

Waiting  to  receive  thy  spirit, 

Lo,  the  Saviour  stands  above, 
Shows  the  purchase  of  His  merit. 

Reaches  out  the  crown  of  love ! 

Struggle  through  thy  latest  passion. 

To  thy  dear  Redeemer's  breast, 
To  His  uttermost  salvation. 

To  His  everlasting  rest. 

For  the  joy  He  sets  before  thee, 

Bear  a  momentary  pain. 
Die  to  live  the  life  of  glory ; 

Suffer,  with  thy  Lord  to  reign  ! 


FTJNERAL  HYMNS.  327 

Her  ctildren's  tremulous  song  ceased^  and  then,  says 
her  own  son  John,  "  She  continued  in  just  the  same  way  as 
my  father  was,  struggling  and  gasping  for  life,  tliough, 
as  I  could  judge  by  several  signs,  perfectly  sensible,  till 
near  four  o'clock.  I  was  then  going  to  drink  a  dish  of 
tea,  being  faint  and  weary,  when  one  called  me  again  to 
the  bedside.  It  was  just  four  o'clock.  She  opened  her 
eyes  wide,  and  fixed  them  upward  for  a  moment.  Then 
the  lids  dropped,  and  the  soul  was  set  at  liberty,  without 
one  struggle,  or  groan,  or  sigh.  We  stood  around  the  bed, 
and  fulfilled  her  last  request,  uttered  a  little  before  she 
lost  her  speech,  '  Children,  as  soon  as  I  am  released,  sing 
a  song  of  praise  to  Grod. '  "  What  psalm  they  sang  is  not 
yet  recorded  ;  but  that  triumphant  death-scene  would  ever 
live  in  the  souls  of  those  who  formed  that  family  choir 
around  the  corpse  of  their  gifted,  loving,  sainted  mother. 
And  in  the  deep,  solemn  joys  of  that  hour  may  be  found 
the  secret  of  the  inspiration  to  which  we  owe  several  of 
Charles  Wesley's  unrivalled  hymns.  The  ' '  psalm  of  praise 
to  God"  which  was  sung  by  the  bereaved  family  around 
the  bed  of  their  widowed  mother  may  have  given  those 
touches  to  the  hymnist's  chastened  heart  which  brought 
out  his  Hymn  on  the  Death  of  a  Widow — a  hymn  which 
may  be  supposed  to  express  the  triumphant  faith  which 
for  the  moment  subdued  the  more  tender  feelings  of 
Susanna  Wesley's  children,  and  which  has  many,  many  a 
time  since  then  gone  swelling  upwards  from  the  scene  of 
Christian  victory,  until  the  voices  of  resigned  and  reliant 
orphans  have  mingled  with  the  songs  of  the  reunited 
parents  before  God  : — 

Give  glory  to  Jesus  our  Head, 

With  all  that  encompass  His  throne ; 
A  widow,  a  widow  indeed, 

A  mother  in  Israel  is  gone ! 
The  winter  of  trouble  is  past ; 

The  storms  of  affliction  are  o'er  ; 
Her  struggle  is  ended  at  last, 

And  sorrow  and  death  are  no  more. 

The  soul  hath  o'ertaken  her  mate, 

And  caught  him  again  in  the  sky  ! 
Advanced  to  her  happy  estate. 

And  pleasure  that  never  shall  die  ! 


328  HYMN-WMTERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Wheii  glorified  spirits,  by  sight, 

Converse  in  their  holy  abode, 
As  stars  in  the  firmament  bright, 

And  pure  as  the  angels  of  God. 

0  Heaven  !  what  a  triumph  is  there ! 

Where  all  in  His  praises  agree ; 
His  beautiful  character  bear, 

And  shine  with  the  glory  they  see : 
The  glory  of  God  and  the  Lamb 

(While  all  in  the  ecstasy  join) 
Darts  into  their  spiritual  frame, 

And  gives  the  enjoyment  Divine. 

In  loud  hallelujahs  they  sing, 

And  harmony  echoes  His  praise  ; 
When,  lo !  the  Celestial  King 

Pours  out  the  full  light  of  His  face : 
The  joy  neither  angel  nor  saint 

Can  bear,  so  ineffably  great ; 
But,  lo !  the  whole  company  faint, 

Ajid  heaven  is  found — at  His  feet. 

It  is  probable,  too,  that  his  mother's  last  words,  "  Sing 
as  soon  as  I  am  released,"  suggested  to  the  son  the  hymn 
which  so  harmonizes  with  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which 
hallowed  her  final  hour  : — 

Blessing,  honour,  thanks,  and  praise, 

Pay  we,  gracious  God,  to  Thee  : 
Thou,  in  Thine  abundant  grace, 

Givest  us  the  victory  : 
True  and  faithful  to  Thy  word, 

Thou  hast  glorified  Thy  Son, 
Jesus  Christ,  our  dying  Lord, 

He  for  us  the  fight  hath  won. 

Lo !  the  prisoner  is  released, 

Lighten' d  of  his  fleshly  load; 
Where  the  weary  are  at  rest, 

He  is  gather' d  unto  God. 
Lo !  the  pain  of  life  is  past ; 

All  his  warfare  now  is  o'er ; 
Death  and  hell  behind  are  cast. 

Grief  and  suffering  are  no  more. 

Yes,  the  Christian's  course  is  run, 

Ended  is  the  glorious  strife  ; 
Fought  the  fight,  the  work  is  done. 

Death  is  swallow' d  up  of  life ! 


FTTNEBAL  H"SMNS.  329 

Borne  by  angels  on  their  wings, 

Far  from  earth  the  spirit  flies, 
Finds  his  God,  and  sits,  and  sings, 

Triumphing  in  Paradise. 

Join  we  then  with  one  accord 

In  the  new,  the  joyful  song  : 
Absent  from  our  loving  Lord 

"We  shall  not  continue  long. 
We  shall  quit  the  house  of  clay, 

We  a  better  lot  shall  share ; 
We  shall  see  the  realms  of  day. 

Meet  our  happy  brother  there. 

Let  the  world  bewail  their  dead. 

Fondly  of  their  loss  complain ; 
Brother,  friend,  by  Jesus  freed. 

Death  to  Thee,  to  us  is  gain : 
Thou  art  enter' d  into  joy  : 

Let  the  unbelievers  mourn  ; 
We  in  songs  our  lives  employ, 

Till  we  all  to  God  return. 

There  are  no  funeral  hymns  equal,  on  the  whole,  to 
Charles  Wesley's ;  none  which  so  fully  express  that  sub- 
lime union  of  solemn  awe,  victorious  faith,  and  overflowing 
joy,  which  is  embodied  in  the  writings  and  examples  of 
inspired  men  and  primitive  saints.  With  a  few  excep- 
tions, they  are  lacking  in  soft  plaintiveness,  but  in  energy 
and  grandeur  they  are  matchless.  None  but  the  soul  who 
enjoys  a  clear  and  deep  interest  in  eternal  life,  and  has  a 
realizing  impression  of  the  nearness  of  the  heavenly  world, 
can  sing  them  with  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  written. 
To  be  felt  in  the  fidness  of  their  power,  they  should  be 
heard  as  they  have  sometimes  been  sung  by  a  devout  crowd 
of  Cornish  miners  at  the  burial  of  a  departed  comrade. 
As  a  class,  or  race,  Cornish  miners  seem  to  be  distinguished 
by  a  sort  of  religious  instinct  or  taste.  A  kind  of  devo- 
tional feeling  appears  to  sway  them.  At  all  events,  their 
minds  soon  take  a  pious  turn  under  the  influence  of  truth, 
when  suitably  administered,  especially  in  some  of  its 
forms.  They  are  not  to  be  touched  by  anything  religiously 
cold  in  spirit,  or  entirely  bald  in  devotion.  To  them  naked 
logic  is  equally  powerless  with  mere  figurative  swell  or 
wordy  show.  They  must  have  a  union  of  the  sensuous 
and  the  practical.     Their  hearts  are  to  be  reached  and 


330  HYMN- WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

moved  most  easily  through  the  understanding.  To  call 
their  intellect  into  pleasurable  exercise  about  religion  is 
most  fully  to  engage  their  affections  on  its  behalf.  They 
are,  indeed,  religiously  intelligent  in  a  high  degree ;  and 
Mrs.  Schimmelpenninck  showed  that  her  discrimination  as 
an  observer  was  quite  equal  to  her  power  of  literary  expres- 
sion, when  she  said  that  "the  Cornishman  who  seeks 
religion,  seeks  it  not  to  inspire  him  in  conversation,  but  to 
support  him  in  adversity,  or  accidents  of  the  most  appalling 
nature,  and  at  the  hour  of  death.  Hence,  his  religion 
is  a  religion  not  of  cant,  but  of  spirit  and  truth."  Then, 
they  love  music,  too,  especially  sacred  music ;  and,  for 
the  most  part,  have  voices  which  seem  to  give  out  the 
fine  tone  of  their  Christian  character.  No  people  have 
been  more  benefited  by  the  labours  of  the  Wesleys ;  no 
men,  as  a  class,  are  better  prepared  to  appreciate  Charles 
"Wesley's  funeral  hymns  ;  and  none  have  ever  given  them 
more  worthy  expression. 

Those  who  have  rambled  among  the  remarkable  varia- 
tions of  Cornish  scenery  will  remember  the  picturesque 
hill  of  Carnbrae.  The  wild  romantic  scramble  up  among 
its  scattered  masses  of  granite,  which  lie  in  heaps  among 
the  furze  and  heath,  the  venerable  fragment  of  a  castle  on 
the  top,  the  curious  piles  of  weather-beaten  rocks,  looking 
as  if  they  had  been  familiar  with  the  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  world's  childhood,  and  the  glorious  prospect  of  hill, 
and  plain,  and  sea,  which  opens  around  one — all  contri- 
bute to  give  a  sense  of  enlargement  and  exhilaration, 
strangely  associated  with  feelings  of  awe,  which  can  never 
be  entirely  lost.  Amidst  the  exciting  varieties  of  the 
more  distant  prospect,  there  is  something  touching  in 
the  appearance  of  a  lonely  old  grey  tower  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  speaking  to  the  soul,  as  it  does  so  plaintively, 
in  memory  of  a  former  race  of  Cornish  saints.  It  is  the 
parish  steeple  of  Redruth.  Some  few  years  ago,  of  a 
summer's  evening,  a  long  crowd  was  seen  passing  down 
the  church  path  from  the  town,  pressing  around  a  bier  as 
if  they  would  affectionately  guard  it  in  front,  and  flank, 
and  rear,  and  singing  as  they  moved.  The  strain  was 
measured  like  their  steps,  and  it  was  in  the  minor  key, 
although  it  seemed  at  times  more  like  a  triumphant  shout 
than  a  wail  of  sorrow.     They  were  keeping  up  the  beauti- 


FTJNEEAL  HYMNS.  331 

ful  custom  of  their  fathers,  the  evening  funeral,  and  the 
burial  hymn  from  the  house  of  bereavement  to  the 
grave.  They  were  singing  one  of  their  grandest  tunes  to 
one  of  Charles  Wesley's  grandest  hymns  : — 

Rejoice  for  a  brother  deceased, 

Our  loss  is  his  infinite  gain  ; 
A  soul  out  of  prison  released, 

And  free  from  its  bodily  chain  ; 
With  songs  let  us  follow  his  flight 

AjQd  mount  with  his  spirit  above. 
Escaped  to  the  mansions  of  light. 

And  lodged  in  the  Eden  of  love. 

Our  brother  the  haven  hath  gain'd, 

Out-flying  the  tempest  and  wind ; 
His  rest  he  hath  sooner  obtained, 

And  left  his  companions  behind, 
Still  toss'd  on  a  sea  of  distress, 

Hard  toiling  to  make  the  blest  shore. 
Where  all  is  assurance  and  peace, 

And  sorrow  and  sin  are  no  more. 

As  the  music  of  the  last  line  melted  away,  there  was 
the  quiet  swell  of  a  calm  but  majestic  voice — "  I  am  the 
resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord." — The  bier  and 
the  train  passed  into  the  ancient  sanctuary,  by  and  by 
again  to  appear,  moving  towards  the  grave.  The  bene- 
diction had  scarcely  closed  the  funeral  service  before  the 
devout  multitude  once  more  lifted  up  its  voice — it  was  a 
full,  a  mighty  voice — and  pressing  around  the  open  grave, 
they  uttered,  in  thrilling  tones,  that  glowing  and  im- 
passioned hymn  that  seems  to  melt  the  earthly  and  the 
heavenly  into  one: — 

Come,  let  us  join  our  friends  above, 

That  have  obtained  the  prize. 
And  on  the  eagle  wings  of  love 

To  joys  celestial  rise. 
Let  all  the  saints  terrestrial  sing 

With  those  to  glory  gone, 
For  all  the  servants  of  our  King 

In  earth  and  heaven  are  one. 

One  family,  we  dwell  in  Him, 

One  church,  above,  beneath, 
Though  now  divided  by  the  stream, 

The  narrow  stream  of  death. 


332  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

One  army  of  the  living  God, 

To  His  command  we  bow  ; 
Part  of  His  host  hath  cross' d  the  flood, 

And  part  is  crossing  now. 

Ten  thousand  to  their  endless  home 

This  solemn  moment  fly : 
And  we  are  to  the  margin  come, 

And  we  expect  to  die ; 
His  militant  embodied  host 

With  wishful  looks  we  stand  ; 
And  long  to  see  that  happy  coast. 

And  reach  that  heavenly  land. 

Our  old  companions  in  distress 

We  haste  again  to  see, 
And  eager  long  for  our  release 

And  full  felicity  : 
Even  now  by  faith  we  join  our  hands 

With  those  that  went  before. 
And  greet  the  blood-besprinkled  bands 

On  the  eternal  shore. 

Our  spirits  too  shall  quickly  join. 

Like  theirs  with  glory  crown' d, 
And  shout  to  see  our  Captain's  sign. 

To  hear  His  trumpet  sound. 
Oh  !  that  we  now  might  grasp  our  Guide  ! 

Oh  !  that  the  word  were  given  ! 
Come,  Lord  of  Hosts !  the  waves  divide, 

And  land  us  all  in  heaven ! 

The  swell  of  the  closing  appeal  was  thrilling-.  The  men's 
voices  were  not  to  be  surpassed.  Their  bass  tones  were 
distinctive  of  their  class.  It  might  be  supposed  that  the 
inimitable  deep  round  fulness,  the  organ-Kke  tone  of  a 
Cornish  miner's  bass  voice  had  some  subtle  relation  to 
the  peculiar  atmospheric  influences  to  which  his  lungs  are 
subject ;  so  that  the  music  of  his  voice  would  seem  like  an 
unearthly  remembrancer  of  the  fact  that  a  great  propor- 
tion of  Cornwall's  subterranean  workmen  are  doomed  to 
an  early  death.  Among  the  singers  at  that  funeral  there 
was  one  young  man  who  appeared  to  be  rapt  while  he 
sang.  It  seemed  as  if  his  music  were  that  of  pure  spirit. 
How  he  kindled  as  he  poured  forth  some  of  the  last  notes ! 
There  was  something  in  his  voice,  something  in  his  expres- 
sion, something  in  the  flow  of  light  from  his  eye,  which 
might  be  thought  to  mark  him  as  the  next  to  whom  a 


FUNERAL  HYMNS.  333 

summons  from  above  would  come.  "Yes,"  thought  one 
who  looked  at  him  that  evening  under  the  calm  light  of 
the  setting  sun,  "  you  are  singing  your  own  requiem,  young 
man!"  And  so  it  was.  The  one  who  noted  the  unmis- 
takable token  of  his  nearness  to  the  land  of  his  fathers, 
shortly  found  him  on  his  deathbed.  But  he  had  not  lost 
the  spirit  of  that  triumphant  hymn.  "  I  am  going  !  "  said 
he,  "I  am  going!  going  early ;  but  God  has  brightened 
my  short  life  into  a  full  one !  Oh,  those  hymns !  they 
have  taught  me  to  live  in  the  light  of  the  future  !  They 
have  been  *  my  songs  in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage  ' ! 
How  often  when  I  have  sung  them  down  deep  in  the  mine 
has  the  darkness  been  light  about  me  !  Never,  since  I 
learnt  to  praise  God  from  my  heart,  have  I  begun  to  work 
in  the  rock  for  blasting,  without  stopping  a  moment  to  ask 
myself,  '  Now,  if  the  hole  should  go  off  about  me,  am  I 
ready  for  heaven  ? '  Sometimes,  sir,  there  has  been  a 
little  shrinking  and  some  doubt,  and  then  I  have  dropped 
on  my  knees,  and  asked  God  to  bless  me  before  I  gave  one 
stroke ;  and  never  did  I  pray  in  vain  ;  my  prayer  has 
always  passed  into  praise.  And  those  blessed  hymns  have 
come  bursting  from  my  heart  and  lipts  as  I  have  toiled  at 
the  point  of  death  !  Oh,  sir  !  do  you  remember  our  sing- 
ing at  the  last  funeral  ?  "  "  Yes,"  it  was  replied,  "  and 
some  thought  then,  that  you  would  never  eing  again;" 
"Never  sing  again,  sir!  why  I  shall  sing  for  ever!  Oh 
that  glorious  hymn,  let  us  sing  it  now !  "     And  he  be- 


Oh  !  that  we  now  might  grasp  our  Guide  ! 

Oh !  that  the  word  were  given ! 
Come,  Lord  of  Hosts  !  the  waves  divide, 

And  land  us. . .  .land. . .  .me. . .  .now  in 

"  Heaven  !  "  he  would  have  sung,  but  he  was  gone  !     He 
had  joined  another  choir  ! 

Such  uses  and  such  fruits  of  funeral  psalmody  might 
have  suggested  the  lines  which  a  grandson  of  good  Dr. 
Hawker,  of  Plymouth,  Wesley's  contemporary,  inscribed 
on  the  grave- stone  of  one  of  his  young  parishioners  in  the 
quiet  burial-place  of  Morwenstow,  on  the  Cornish  coast. 
The  memorial  verses  are  not  unworthy  of  their  author,  nor 
of  their  title,  "  A  Cornish  Death-Song  :  "— 


334  HYMN-WEITERS  AIJD  THEIE  HYMNS. 

Sing  !  from  the  chamber  to  the  grave, 
Thus  did  the  dead  man  say : 

A  sound  of  melody  I  crave 
Upon  my  biirial  day ! 

Bring  forth  some  tuneful  instrument, 

And  let  your  voices  rise  ; 
My  spirit  listen'd  as  it  went 

To  music  of  the  skies ! 

Sing  sweetly  as  you  travel  on, 
And  keep  the  funeral  show  : 

The  angels  sing  where  I  am  gone, 
And  you  should  sing  below ! 

Sing  from  the  threshold  to  the  porch, 

Until  you  hear  the  bell ; 
And  sing  you  loudly  in  the  church 

The  psalms  I  love  so  well. 

Then  bear  me  gently  to  the  grave ; 

And  as  you  pass  along, 
Remember  'twas  my  wish  to  have 

A  pleasant  funeral  song  ! 

So  earth  to  earth — and  dust  to  dust — 
And  though  my  bones  decay, 

My  soul  shall  sing  among  the  just. 
Until  the  judgment  day! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

JUDGMENT   StMNS. 

"  And  after  these  things  I  heard  a  voice  of  much  people  in  heaven, 
saying,  AUekiia ;  salvation,  and  gloty,  and  honour,  and  power,  unto 
the  Lord  our  God:  for  true  and  righteous  are  His  judgments." 

From  age  to  age  the  Christian  Church  has  been  listening 
in  solemn  awe  to  her  Divine  Master's  utterance,  "When 
the  Son  of  Man  shall  come  in  His  glory,  and  all  the  holy 
angels  with  Him,  then  shall  He  sit  upon  the  throne  of  His 
glory;  and  before  Him  shall  be   gathered    all   nations." 
Nor  at  any  period  since  the  time  when  the  glory  of  the 
descending  Judge  filled  the  visions  of  apostles,  has  the 
Church  entirely  lost  her  sense  of  the  Bridegroom's  approach ; 
there  have  been  seasons  of  slumber,  and  many  have  fallen 
asleep  ;  but  watchful  virgins  have  always  kejjt  their  lamps 
trimmed  and  burning,  with  oil  in  their  vessels,  while  their 
watchful  hours  have  been  kept  vocal  with  successive  sono-s 
of  holy  confidence  and  patient  joyful  hope.     Scarcely  have 
the  tones  of  one  hymn  died  away  before  another  has  been 
grandly  swelling  upon  the  ear  of  Christendom.     In  the 
fourteenth  century  the  music  of  the  Church  was  becoming 
faint.     Truth  was  sending  out  its  messages,  but  in  under- 
tones.    Spiritual  religion  was  keeping  up  its  struggling 
existence  within  narrow  retreats.      But  even  then,  as  in 
every  crisis  of  Christian  history,  there  came    awakening 
voices,  such  as  those  of  Francis  of  Assissi,  and  his  friend 
and  biographer,  Thomas  of  Celano  ;  one,  the  great  father  of 
itinerant  preaching  friars  ;  the  other,  that  hymnist  whose 
one  judgment   hymn   roused    the    slumbering    choirs    of 
Europe,  and  still  sends  forth  its  deep  and  solemn  music, 
making  sinners'  ears  tingle,  and  thrilling  the  heart  of  every 


336  HYMJ^-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Cliristian  generation.  Tlie  hymn  is  tlie  natural  voice  of 
the  times  which  gave  it  birth.  It  is  the  voice  of  bondage 
rather  than  of  freedom,  of  fearfulness  rather  than  of  joy. 
It  is  the  language  of  a  prodigal  deprecating  his  Father's 
wrath,  rather  than  the  utterance  of  a  son  jubilant  in  anti- 
cipation of  his  inheritance.  Its  tone  is  one  of  deeper 
humiliation  than  that  of  apostolic  days ;  it  is  not  equal  to 
that  "full  assurance  of  hope"  which  the  hymns  of  later 
times  express.  But  it  has  doubtless  helped  many  a  heart 
to  prepare  for  judgment,  and  brought  timely  comfort  to 
many  departing  souls  by  its  solemn  and  unearthly  music. 
It  has  gathered  deeper  interest  in  the  affections  of  many 
from  its  association  with  the  last  moments  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  He  requested,  as  he  neared  the  end,  that  a  dear 
relative  would  read  to  him.  "  What  book  shall  I  read  ?  " 
it  was  asked.  "What  book?"  said  he;  "there  is  but 
one!"  Blessed  book!  that  alone  could  show  him  his 
way  ;  but  after  hearing  God's  voice,  his  soul  feU  back  upon 
ancient  songs.  Some  of  the  magnificent  old  hymns  in 
which  he  had  delighted  were  now  murmured  by  the  dying 
poet.  Those  who  were  gathered  around  him  say,  "We 
have  often  heard  distinctly  the  cadence  of  the  *  Dies  Irse,' 
Thomas  of  Celano's  grand  and  immortal  Song  of  Judgment. 
Scott  had  himself  translated  it  in  part.  No  trail slation, 
however,  among  the  scores  which  have  been  issued,  can  be 
called  fully  adequate  in  all  respects.  The  spirit  and  tone 
have  been  faithfully  and  powerfully  rendered  thus : — 

Lo,  the  day  of  wrath,  the  day, 
Earth  and  heaven  melt  away, 
David  and  the  Sybil  say. 

Stoutest  heart  with  fear  shall  quiver, 
When  to  Him  that  erreth  never, 
All  must  strict  account  deliver. 

Lo  !  the  trumpet's  wondrous  pealing, 
Rung  through  each  sepulchral  dwelling, 
All  before  the  throne  compeUing  ! 

Nature  shrinks  appall'd,  and  death. 
When  the  dead  regain  their  breath, 
To  the  Judge  each  answereth. 

Then  the  Written  Book  is  set, 
All  things  are  contained  in  it. 
Then  each  learns  his  sentence  meet. 


JUDGMENT  HYMNS.  337 

When  the  Judge  appears  again, 
Hidden  things  shall  be  made  plain, 
Nothing  unavenged  remain. 

What  shall  I,  unworthy,  plead  ? 
Who  for  me  will  intercede. 
When  the  just  will  mercy  need  ? 

King  of  dreadful  majesty. 

Who  sav'st  the  saved  of  mercy  free. 

Fount  of  pity,  save  Thou  me  ! 

Think  of  me,  good  Lord,  I  pray. 
Who  trodd'st  for  me  the  bitter  way, 
Nor  forsake  me  in  that  day. 

Weary  sat'st  Thou,  seeking  me, 
Diedst  redeeming  on  the  tree ; 
Not  in  vain  such  toil  can  be  ! 

Judge  avenging,  let  me  win 
Free  remission  of  my  sin, 
Ere  that  dreadful  day  begin. 

Sinful,  o'er  my  sins  I  groan, 
Guilt  my  crimson' d  face  must  own. 
Spare,  O  God,  Thy  suppliant  one. 

Mary  was  by  Thee  forgiven, 

To  the  thief  Thou  open'dst  heaven, 

Hope  to  me,  too,  Thou  hast  given. 

All  unworthy  is  my  prayer ; 
Gracious  One,  be  gracious  there ; 
From  that  quenchless  fire,  oh  spare. 

Place  Thou  me  at  Thy  right  hand, 
'Mongst  Thy  sheep,  oh  make  me  stand, 
Far  from  the  convicted  band. 

When  the  accursed  condemn' d  shall  be 
Doom'd  to  keenest  flames  by  Thee, 
'Midst  the  blessed  call  Thou  me. 

Contrite,  suppliant,  I  pray, 
Ashes  on  my  heart  I  lay, 
Care  Thou  for  me  in  that  day. 

To  write  a  judgment  liyinii  with  that  spirit,  and  power, 
and  majesty  which  become  the  theme,  requires  a  glowing 
intellect  under  the  full  command  of  inspired  truth;  a 
genius  in  deep  sympathy  with  Divine  revelations  ;  a  soul 
devoutly  familiar  with  spiritual  unseen  things,  capable,  by 


338  HYMN-WEITEKS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

strong  faith,  of  realizing  the  presence  of  the  Judge,  and  of 
expressing  its  sense  of  that  presence  so  as  to  make  others 
see  and  feel  much  of  what  it  sees  and  feels  itself;  one  indeed 
who  lives  in  frequent  visions  of  the  unearthly  and  the  divine. 
Hymnists  of  this  class  have  sometimes  sprung  up  where, 
by  most  people,  they  would  not  he  looked  for.  On  the 
morning  of  October  24th,  1753,  a  somewhat  remarkable 
figure  was  seen  walking  out  from  the  town  of  Bradford,  in 
Wiltshire.  He  had  on  a  long,  heavy  great-coat,  covering 
a  dress  of  dark  blue,  of  primitive  cut,  rather  after  the  style 
of  the  ordinary  dress  of  a  modern  English  bishop.  He 
wore  heavy  riding-boots,  however,  and  had  saddle-bags 
filled  with  books  and  linen  slung  across  his  shoulder.  His 
face  would  arrest  attention  ;  the  open,  well-formed,  mauly 
features,  and  the  ever-kindling  eye  giving  expression  to  a 
rare  combination  of  acute  perception,  deep  thoughtfulness, 
logical  power,  hapj)y  temper,  quiet  humour,  and  bold  ima- 
gination. It  was  one  of  Mr.  Wesley's  itinerant  preachers, 
on  his  way  to  Cornwall,  afoot.  After  many  curious  adven- 
tures on  the  road,  he  entered  on  his  perilous  "round" 
among  the  then  rude  masses  of  the  extreme  west.  His 
own  rare  bit  of  autobiography  helps  us  to  follow  his  steps. 
"As  to  trials,"  says  he,  "I  do  not  remember  that  I  had 
any  in  these  parts  which  deserve  the  name.  Indeed,  in 
one  place  the  high  constable  came  to  press  me  for  a  soldier 
while  I  was  preaching.  He  said,  '  As  you  preach  so  well, 
you  are  very  fit  to  serve  his  Majesty.  I  therefore  desire 
you  will  get  ready  to  go  with  me  to  a  magistrate  to-morrow 
morning.'  I  answered,  '  Why  not  to-night  ?  I  am  ready 
to  go  with  you  now.'  He  then  said,  '  Well,  you  may  first 
finish  your  sermon.'  Accordingly,  I  began  again  where  I 
had  left  off,  and  the  constable  and  his  companion  stayed  to 
hear  me,  and  then  went  quietly  away.  The  next  morning 
I  waited  for  his  return,  but  he  never  came  ;  so  that,  in  all 
probability,  what  he  heard  was  a  means,  at  least,  of  cooling 
his  courage." 

The  man  who  could  act  and  write  like  this  was  no  com- 
mon man.  He  was  a  dreamer,  at  all  events ;  for  he  tells 
us  : — "  When  I  was  in  this  neighbourhood,  I  dreamed  one 
night  that  Christ  was  come  in  the  clouds  to  judge  the 
world,  and  also  that  He  looked  exceeding  black  at  me. 
When  I  awoke  I  was  much  alarmed.     I  therefore  humbled 


JUDGMENT  HYMNS.  339 

inyself  exceedingly,  with  fastings  and  prayer,  and  was 
determined  never  to  give  over  till  nay  evidence  of  the  love 
of  Christ  was  made  quite  clear.  One  day,  as  I  was  at 
prayer  in  my  room,  with  my  eyes  shut,  the  Lord,  as  it 
were,  appeared,  to  the  eye  of  my  mind,  as  standing  just 
before  me,  while  ten  thousand  small  streams  of  blood 
seemed  to  issue  from  every  part  of  His  body.  This  sight 
was  so  unexpected,  and  at  the  same  time  so  seasonable, 
that,  for  once,  I  wept  aloud  ;  yea,  and  almost  fainted  away. 
I  now  more  fully  believed  His  love  to  me,  and  that,  if  He 
was  then  to  come  to  judgment,  He  would  not  frown,  but 
rather  smile  on  me ;  therefore  I  loved  and  praised  Him 
with  all  my  heart.  Some  years  after,  I  had  a  dream  of  a 
quite  different  sort ;  I  dreamed  that  I  was  talking  with 
two  women  concerning  the  day  of  judgment.  Among  other 
things,  I  thought  I  told  them  I  was  certain  it  was  very 
near.  On  hearing  this,  I  thought  they  burst  into  laughter, 
and  rejected  all  I  said.  Being  much  grieved  at  this,  I  told 
them,  '  I  will  go  and  see  if  it  is  not  as  I  said.'  Accord- 
ingly I  went  to  the  door,  and,  on  looking  up  southward, 
thought  I  saw  the  heavens  open,  and  a  stream  of  fire,  as 
large  as  a  small  river,  issuing  forth.  On  seeing  this,  I 
thought  I  ran  back  to  the  women,  and  said,  '  You  would 
not  believe  me ;  but  come  to  the  door,  and  you  will  see 
with  your  own  eyes  that  the  day  is  come.'  On  hearing 
this,  I  thought  they  were  much  alarmed,  and  ran  with  me 
to  the  door.  By  the  time  we  were  got  thither,  I  thought 
the  whole  concave,  southward,  was  filled  with  an  exceed- 
ingly thick,  fiery  mist,  which  swiftly  moved  northward  in  a 
huge  body,  filling  the  whole  space  between  the  heaven  and 
the  earth  as  it  came  along.  As  it  drew  near,  I  thought, 
'  The  day  is  come  of  which  I  have  so  often  told  the  world, 
and  now,  in  a  few  moments,  I  shall  see  how  it  will  be  with 
me  to  all  eternity,'  And  for  a  moment  I  seemed  to  feel 
myself  in  a  state  of  awful  suspense.  When  the  fire  was 
come  close  to  me,  I  was  going  to  shrink  back,  but  thought, 
'  This  is  all  in  vain,  as  there  is  now  no  place  of  shelter  left.' 
I  then  pushed  myself  forward  into  it,  and  found  that  the 
fire  had  no  power  to  hurt  me,  for  I  stood  as  easy  in  the 
midst  of  it  as  ever  I  did  in  the  open  air.  The  joy  I  felt,  on. 
being  able  to  stand  unhurt  and  undismayed  amidst  this 
awful  burning,  cannot  be  described.      Even  so  shall  it  be 


340  HTMN-WRIIERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

with,  all  who  are  cai-eful  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate,  and 
to  walk  closely  and  steadily  in  the  narrow  way  all  the  days 
of  their  life.     All  these  shall 

Stand  secure,  and  smile, 
Amidst  the  jarring  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crash  of  worlds !" 

This  dream  might  remind  us  of  Charles  Wesley's  grand 
hymn : — 

Stand  th'  omnipotent  decree  : 

Jehovah's  will  be  done ! 
Nature's  end  we  wait  to  see, 

And  hear  her  final  gToan  ; 
Let  this  earth  dissolve,  and  blend 

In  death  the  wicked  and  the  just ; 
Let  those  ponderous  orbs  descend, 
.  And  grind  us  into  dust. 

Rests  secure  the  righteous  man. 

At  his  Redeemer's  beck, 
Sure  to  emerge,  and  rise  again. 

And  mount  above  the  wreck  ; 
Lo,  the  heavenly  spirit  towers. 

Like  flame,  o'er  nature's  funeral  pyre, 
Triumphs  in  immortal  powers. 

And  claps  his  wings  of  fire  ! 

Nothing  hath  the  just  to  lose 

By  worlds  on  worlds  destroyed, 
Far  beneath  his  feet  he  views 

With  smiles  the  flaming  void ; 
,  Sees  the  universe  renew' d, 

The  grand  millennial  reign  begTin, 
Shouts,  with  all  the  sons  of  God, 

Around  the  eternal  throne ! 

Resting  in  this  glorious  hope 

To  be  at  last  restored. 
Yield  we  now  our  bodies  up 

To  earthquake,  plague,  or  sword. 
Listening  for  the  call  Divine, 

The  latest  trumpet  of  the  seven ; 
Soon  our  souls  and  dust  shall  join, 

And  both  fly  up  to  heaven. 

The  dreamer  may  have  had  this  hymn  in  his  mind ;  at  all 
events,  the  visions  of  judgment,  the  awful  scenes  of  the 
consummation  entranced  him.  And  whether  his  dreams 
arose  from  the  cherished  imaginations  of  his  soul  in  its  daily 


JUDGMEICT  HYMNS.  341 

commimion  with  the  future,  or  whether  the  dream  which  he 
records  gave  to  his  consecrated  genius  the  inspiring  touches 
which  kindled  it  into  song,  the  story  of  his  dreams  will 
ever  be  associated  with  his  immortal  judgment  hymn : — 

Come,  immortal  KJing  of  Glory ! 

Now  Avith  all  Thy  saints  appear  ; 
While  astonish' d  worlds  adore  Thee, 

And  the  dead  Thy  clarions  hear. 
Shine  refulgent. 

And  Thy  deity  maintain. 

HaU  !  the  world's  adored  Creator ! 

In  Thy  radiant  vesture  seen. 
Hail !  the  Lord  of  life  and  nature  ! 

Hail !  the  Almighty  Nazarene  ! 
They  who  pierced  Him, 

Every  eye  shall  see  Him  come. 

But,  how  diverse  the  sensation  I 

Saints  with  joy  and  rapture  fill'd, 
Glow  with  holy  exultation. 

To  redemption's  glory  seal'd ; 
While , the  wicked 

Wail  His  coming's  dread  design. 

Lo  !  He  comes  with"clouds  descending  : 

Hark !  the  trump  of  God  is  blown  : 
And  th'  archangel's  voice  attending, 

Make  the  high  procession  known. 
Sous  of  Adam, 

Rise  and  stand  before  your  God  ! 

Crowns  and  sceptres  fall  before  Him, 
Kings  and  conquerors  own  His  sway, 

Haughtiest  monarchs  now  adore  Him, 
Wliile  they  see  His  lightnings  play. 

How  triumphant 
Is  the  world's  Eedeemer  now. 

Light  primeval  in  its  lustre 

Doth  in  Jesu's  aspect  shine  ; 
Blazing  comets  are  not  fiercer 

Than  His  eyes  of  flame  Divine. 
Oh,  how  dreadful 

Doth  the  Ci  ucified  appear ! 

Hear  His  voice  as  mighty  thunder. 

Sounding  in  eternal  roar, 
"While  its  echo  rends  in  sunder 

Hocks  and  mountains,  sea  and  shore. 
Hark,  His  accents 

Thro'  th'  unfathom'd  deep  resound  ! 


342  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

See  His  throne  of  jasper  whiteness ; 

Throne  of  justice  and  of  grace  ; 
See  Jehovah's  equal  brightness 

Shining  in  Emmanuers  face. 
Saints  exulting 

Shout  with  joy  th'  accomplish' d  prayer. 

"  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  oh  come  quickly :  " 
Oft  has  pray'd  the  mourning  bride. 

Lo !  He  answers,  "  I  come  quickly," 
Who  Thy  coming  may  abide  ? 

AU  who  loved  Him, 
All  who  long'd  to  see  His  day. 

See  the  awful  expectation  ! 

See  the  heavens  themselves  on  fire ! 
Melting  in  the  conflagration, 

See  the  elements  expire  ! 
While  the  trumpet 

Blows  around,  "Ye  dead,  arise!" 

Lo !  the  dead  arise,  and  standing 
At  their  great  Creator's  bar : 

While  the  Judge  of  all  commanding, 
Cries,  "  To  meet  your  God  prepare." 

All  whose  judgments 
And  His  ways  are  equal  found ! 

Now  the  dreadful  volumes  opening. 
Scenes  of  various  deeds  disclose, 

WhUe  the  Judge  proclaims  the  sentence, 
Righteous  sentence  on  His  foes  : 

Wrath  to  sinners ; 
To  His  saints  the  crown  of  life ! 

Gather  ye  His  saints  together, 
Now  with  Him  in  judgment  sit; 

See  the  vile  as  stubble  wither, 
Ashes  now  beneath  your  feet ! 

While  His  vengeance 
Seals  their  everlasting  doom. 

Hark!  the  universal  groaning  ; 

Hark !  the  cries  of  guilt  and  fear  ; 
Hear  them  each  his  fate  bemoaning, 

Each  the  cause  bemoaning  hear. 
God  no  longer 

Patient,  merciful  or  kind. 

"  Come,  ye  mountains,  and  fall  on  us, 
Come,  ye  rocks,  our  heads  conceal, 

For  the  day  is  come  upon  us, 

Day  of  wrath  that  bums  to  hell ; 

Where  the  gnawing 
Worm  of  conscience  never  dies. 


JUDGMENT  HYMNS. 

Where  no  more  for  them  remaining, 
Hope  no  more  awaits  their  call ; 

But  in  iron  bonds  detaining, 

Heav'ns  high  justice  binds  up  all. 

While  His  mercy 
To  remorseless  judgment  turns. 

Lo  !  the  Grod  of  all  contending, 

Calls  the  heavens  from  afar, 
Bids,  0  earth,  thy  eons  attending, 

Hear  Him,  for  Himself  declare 
All  His  -wisdom, 

And  His  righteous  acts  unfold. 

Stopt  for  ever  all  complaining  ; 

Stopt  the  mouth  of  murmuring  pride ; 
Fools  no  more  their  God  disdaining. 

Atheists  now  no  more  deride, 
But  with  trembling 

Wait  His  judgment's  last  award. 

"  Go  from  Me,"  He  saith,  "ye  cursed," 

Ye  for  whom  I  bled  in  vain. 
Who  My  utmost  gi-ace  resisted  ; 

Go  ye  to  unending  pain. 
Lord  Almighty, 

True  and  righteous  are  Thy  ways  ! 

"  Come,"  He  saith,  "  ye  heirs  of  glory," 
Come,  ye  purchase  of  my  blood. 

Claim  the  kingdom  now  before  you. 
Rise,  and  fill  the  mount  of  God  : 

Fix'd  for  ever, 
Where  the  Lamb  on  Sion  stands. 

See  ten  thousand  burning  seraphs 

From  their  thrones  as  lightnings  fly: 

Take,  they  cry,  your  seats  above  us, 
Nearest  Him  that  rules  the  sky, 

Patient  sufferers. 
How  rewarded  are  ye  now ! 

Ransom'd  victors,  see  His  ensign, 

Waving  high  in  purple  air ! 
Jesus,  with  His  ancients  reigning, 

Shall  to  each  His  conquest  share : 
He  who  made  them 

More  than  conquerors  thro'  His  blool. 

Now  their  trials  all  are  ended, 
Now  the  dubious  warfare's  o'er  ; 

•Joy  no  more  with  sorrow  blended  ; 
They  shall  sigh  and  weep  no  more  : 

God  for  ever 
Wipes  the  tear  from  every  eye. 


343 


344  HYMN--WEITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Thro'  His  passion,  all  victorious ; 

Now  they  driiik:  immortal  wine  : 
In  Emmanuel's  likeness,  glorious 

As  the  firmament  they  shine  : 
Shine  for  ever 

With  the  bright  and  morning  star. 

Where  His  sceptre's  sway  extending, 
Jesus  high  His  right  maintains; 

Heaven,  and  earth,  and  hell  commanding, 
God  omnipotent  He  reigns  : 

Prince  of  princes ! 
King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords  ! 

Shining  in  His  bright  expansion, 
King  of  saints  behold  Him  sit ! 

Joy  of  each  adoring  mansion, 
Sunk  for  ever  at  His  feet. 

Lord  of  Glory ! 
And  His  kingdom  without  end  ! 

Shout  aloud,  ye  ethereal  choirs, 
Triumph  in  Jehovah's  praise, 

Kindle  all  your  heavenly  fires, 
All  your  palms  of  vict'ry  raise : 

Shout  His  conquests. 
Shout,  "  Salvation  to  the  Lamb." 

See  in  sacred  pomp  ascending, 
Jesus  and  His  glorious  train  : 

Countless  myriads  now  attending 
Hail  the  empyrean  plain. 

"HaUelujah," 
First  and  last  and  Lord  of  all ! 

In  full  triumph  see  them  marching, 
Through  the  gates  of  massy  light  : 

While  the  city  walls  are  sparkling 
With  meridian  glory  bright. 

Oh  how  lovely 
Are  the  dwellings  of  the  Lamb  ! 

See  His  beauty  all  resplendent : 
See  in  Him  the  Godhead  shine : 

See  Him  above  all  transcendent, 
FuU  of  Deity  Divine. 

Hail !  eternal ! 
Sov'reign  Lord  of  worlds  unknown ! 

On  His  throne  of  sapphired  azure, 
High  above  all  height  He  reig-ns  : 

Reigns  the  fount  of  endless  pleasure  ; 
Self-subsistent  He  remains. 

How  diffusive 
Shines  the  uncreated  blaze ! 


JUDGMENT  HYMNS.  345 

Hosts  angelic  all  adore  Him, 

Circling  round  His  orient  seat, 
Elders  cast  their  crowns  before  Him, 

Fall  and  worship  at  His  feet. 
Oh  how  "holy, 

"And  how  reverend  is  Thy  name  !  " 

Shout  aloud  the  new  creation, 

All  ye  heavenly  arches  ring, 
Echo  to  the  Lord — salvation, 

"  Glory  to  th'  eternal  king!" 
Dread  Jehovah ! 

"  God  with  God !  and  Son  of  man !  " 

I  am  Alpha  and  Omega, 

I  the  firi^t  and  last  am  He : 
He  who  was  and  is  to  come — who 

Am  and  will  for  ever  be  : 
Jah,  Jehovah, 

Jah,  Jehovah,  is  my  name. 

Hail !  Thou  Alpha  and  Omega  ! 

First  and  last  of  all  alone ! 
He  that  is,  and  was,  and  shall  be, 

And  beside  whom  there  is  none, 
Take  the  glory. 

Great  eternal  Three  in  One ! 

Praise  be  to  the  Father  given : 

Praise  to  the  co-eval  Son  : 
Praise  the  Spirit,  one  and  seven ; 

Praise  the  mystic  Three  in  One, 
Hallelujah! 

Everlasting  praise  be  Thine. 

The  dreamer  will  be  known  from  his  hymn.  He  was  no 
other  than  Thomas  Olivers,  the  wandering  Methodist 
preacher,  Wesley's  companion,  and  Toj)lady's  theological 
antagonist.  Thomas  Olivers  was  born  at  Tregonan,  in 
Montgomerj^shire,  in  1725.  His  father  died  four  years 
after  his  birth ;  in  three  months  his  mother's  heart  was 
broken  by  her  loss  ;  and  he,  with  a  younger  brother,  were 
left  to  the  care  of  his  mother's  friends.  Placed  at  a 
neighbouring  school,  he  "  received  such  learning  as  was 
thought  necessary  "  ;  but  proved  a  more  apt  scholar  in  vice 
than  in  virtue.  At  eighteen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a 
shoemaker,  and  entered  on  a  course  of  youthful  pi'ofligacy 
in  which  he  soon  outstripped  most  of  his  compeers ;  and 
was  obliged  at  length  to  fly  from  the  scene  of  his  wicked- 


346  nYMN-WlUTERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

ness,  in  order  to  escape  public  indignation.  As  a  wanderer 
from  place  to  place,  he  exemplified  the  misery  of  those 
who  plunge  deeper  and  deeper  into  sin,  vainly  striving  to 
shake  ofi',  or  alleviate  the  terrors  of  an  evil  conscience. 
Reduced  at  last  to  beggary,  and  extreme  wretchedness  of 
mind  and  body,  he  found  his  way  to  hear  Whitefield  preach 
at  Bristol.  The  preacher's  text  was,  "  Is  not  this  a  brand 
plucked  out  of  the  fire?"  It  was  a  word  in  season. 
Olivers  became  a  new  man,  and  on  the  first  Sunday  after, 
"I  went,"  he  says,  "  to  the  cathedral  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing. When  the  Te  Beum  was  read,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  done 
with  earth  and  was  praising  God  before  His  throne.  No 
words  can  set  forth  the  joy,  the  rapture,  the  awe  and 
reverence  I  felt."  His  course  was  altered.  He  joined  the 
Methodists.  All  his  debts  were  gradually  paid.  He 
began  to  preach ;  was  at  length  sent  into  Cornwall  by  Mr. 
Wesley ;  and  having  run  a  useful,  happy,  and  honourable 
course,  he  suddenly  departed  in  ]\rarch,  1799,  leaving  his 
dust  to  be  deposited  in  Wesley's  own  tomb.  He  has  be- 
queathed to  us  one  of  the  grandest  judgment  hymns  that 
ever  the  Church  sang,  or  that  ever  brought  the  sound  of  the 
Judge's  approach  to  the  ears  of  the  world.  It  is  remark- 
able that  Charles  AVesley  and  he  should  have  the  same 
line  in  the  two  hymns  that  so  strikingly  rival  each  other  in 
magnificence.     Each  sings : 

Lo !  He  comes  with  clouds  descending. 
Whether  Wesley  caught  the  key-note  from  Olivers,  or 
Olivers  from  Wesley,  they  evidently  breathed  the  same 
inspiration.  Each  hymnist  has  the  same  vivid  realization 
of  the  overwhelming  majesty  of  the  final  scene  ;  and  neither 
of  the  two  hymns  can  be  devoutly  sung  without  an  ever- 
deepening  feeling  of  solemn  awe  and  reverent  hope.  How 
striking  and  sublime  is  Wesley's  third  verse,  in  which  the 
Judge  appears  still  bearing  the  tokens  of  His  passion,  thus 
exciting  the  holy  rapture  of  those  who  have  been  redeemed 
by  His  agony  and  death : — 

The  dear  tokens  of  His  passion 

Still  His  dazzling  body  bears ; 
Cause  of  endless  exultation 

To  His  ransom' d  worshippers  : 
With  what  rapture 

Gaze  we  on  those  glorious  scars  ! 


JUDGMENT  HYMNS. 


347 


Most  of  Charles  Wesley's  judgment  hymns  are  of  the 
highest  class.  Several  of  them  were  written  in  December, 
1755,  just  when  the  public  mind  was  agitated  by  the  fearful 
news  of  the  Lisbon  earthquake ;  and  while  the  nation  was 
in  tremulous  suspense,  awaiting  the  threatened  French 
invasion.  Some  of  these  have  special  allusion  to  the  dis- 
tinguishing circumstances  of  the  times  ;  but  others  may  be 
on  the  lips  and  hearts  of  all,  in  all  ages,  who  prayerfully 
look  for  the  day  of  account.  No  hymn  can  more  graciously 
dispose  the  subjects  of  future  judicial  inspection  for  the 
holiest  and  safest  posture  of  readiness  for  the  trumpet's 
voice  than  this: — 

Thou  Judge  of  quick  and  dead, 

Before  whose  bar  severe, 
With  holy  joy  or  guilty  dread, 

"We  all  shall  soon  appear  ; 
Our  caution'd  souls  prepare 

For  that  tremendous  day  ; 
And  fill  us  now  with  watchful  care, 

And  stir  us  up  to  pray — 

To  pray  and  wait  the  hour. 

That  awful  hour  unknown  ; 
When,  robed  in  majesty  and  power. 

Thou  shalt  from  heaven  come  down, 
The  immortal  Son  of  man. 

To  judge  the  human  race, 
With  all  Thy  Father's  dazzling  train, 

With  aU  Thy  glorious  grace. 

To  damp  our  earthly  joys, 
I  To  increase  our  gracious  fears, 

For  ever  let  the  Archangel's  voice 

Be  sounding  in  our  ears  ; 
The  solemn  midnight  cry, 

"  Ye  dead,  the  Judge  is  come  ; 
Arise  and  meet  Him  in  the  sky. 

And  meet  your  instant  doom ! ' ' 

Oh,  may  we  thus  be  found 

Obedient  to  His  word ; 
Attentive  to  the  trumpet's  sound, 

And  looking  for  our  Lord ! 
Oh,  may  we  thus  ensure 

A  lot  among  the  blest ; 
And  watch  a  moment  to  secure 

An  everlasting  rest ! 


348  HYMN-"WE.ITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

But  among  the  many  judgment  hymns  which  must  be 
ever  precious  to  those  who  "  look  for  their  Lord,"  who  can 
forget  one  that  rose  from  Oxford,  about  forty  years  ago, 
kindling  afresh  the  faith  of  English  Christians,  and 
awakening  the  Church  to  brighter  and  holier  anticipations 
of  its  Lord's  descent.  Henry  Hart  Milman  will  always  be 
reverenced  by  the  lovers  of  high  class  Church  history,  and 
be  thought  of  with  admiration  and  thankfulness  by  all 
who  enjoy  the  Christian  hymn  when  it  rises  into  impres- 
sive grandeur.  Dean  Milman,  now  a  venerable  man 
bending  under  the  weight  of  years,  is  the  son  of  Sir 
Francis  Milman,  physician  to  George  III.  Born  in  1791  ; 
educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  he  was  advanced  in  1817  to 
the  vicarage  of  St.  Mary's,  Reading  ;  and  four  years  after 
was  installed  as  University  Professor  of  Poetry  at  Oxford  ; 
and  while  filling  that  chair,  he  gave  forth  his  hymn  on 
"  The  Last  Day"  :— 

The  chariot,  the  chariot !  its  wheels  roll  on  fire, 

As  the  Lord  cometh  down  in  the  pomp  of  His  ire ; 

Self -moving,  it  drives  on  its  pathway  of  cloud, 

And  the  heavens  with  the  burthen  of  Godhead  are  bowed. 

The  glory,  the  glory !  around  Him  are  poured, 
The  myriads  of  angels  that  wait  on  the  Lord  ; 
And  the  glorified  saints,  and  the  martyrs  are  there, 
And  all  who  the  palm-wreath  of  victory  wear. 

The  trumpet,  the  trumpet !  the  dead  have  all  heard, 
Lo  !  the  depths  of  the  stone-covered  charnel  are  stirred ; 
Prom  the  ocean  and  earth,  from  the  south  and  the  north, 
Lo  !  the  vast  generations  of  ages  come  forth  ! 

The  judgment,  the  judgment !  the  thrones  are  all  set. 
Where  the  Lamb  and  the  white-vested  elders  are  met ; 
All  flesh  is  at  once  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord, 
And  the  doom  of  eternity  hangs  on  His  word. 

Oh  mercy,  oh  mercy !  look  down  from  above, 
Redeemer,  on  us  Thy  sad  children,  with  love. 
When  beneath,  to  their  darkness  the  wicked  are  driven, 
May  our  sanctified  souls  find  a  mansion  in  heaven. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 
SONGS    OF    GLOR  Y. 

"  And  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord  shall  return,  and  come  to  Sion  with 
songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads." 

There  are  many  who  look  wishfully  for  immortal  pleasures 
in  heaven,  while  they  withhold  themselves  from  preparatory 
religious  pleasures  upon  earth.  And  some,  too,  who  with 
a  sort  of  instinctive  yearning  for  repose  in  the  future,  sing 
of  eternal  rest,  though  as  yet  they  have  not  been  fully  sub- 
missive to  Him  who  is  the  only  source  and  giver  of  rest. 
There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  human  genius  when 
divine  and  celestial  realities  assert  their  claims  on  the  gifted 
soul,  and  call  out  from  it  songs  and  hymns,  which  have  a 
music  and  a  power  for  minds  far  more  spiritual  than  the 
author's,  a  music  and  a  power  which  the  hymnist  himself, 
perhaps,  never  so  deeply  felt.  Thomas  Moore,  it  may  be, 
though  expressing  the  aspiration  of  his  own  soul  in  one 
of  its  better  moments,  never  knew  with  how  deep  a  charm 
his  verses  touch  the  more  fully  sanctified  spirit,  who 
patiently  longs  for  the  moment  of  its  upward  spring  into 
eternal  life. 

The  bird  let  loose  in  Eastern  skies 

When  hastening  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  his  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam ; 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  care, 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 
Aloft,  through  virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee ! 


350  HYMN- -WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

Jfy  soul  as  home  she  springs  ; 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  M^ay, 

Thy  freedom  in  her  wings  ! 

Many  a  heavenly-minded  Christian,  with  whom  Moore 
would  have  but  little  sympathy,  will  thank  God  for  the 
pen  of  the  man  who  has  thus  afi'orded  him  a  tuneful  form  of 
expressing  what  he  himself  could  never  so  express,  while 
pluming  his  wings  for  a  homeward  flight.  So,  the  same 
hymnist  has  furnished  a  song  of  glory  which  those  whose 
heavenliness  is  a  principle  and  hahit,  rather  than  a  mere 
sentiment,  will  always  sing  with  feelings  richer  probably, 
and  holier,  than  the  inspiration  which  gave  it  birth  :  — 
This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show 

For  man's  illusion  given  ; 
The  smiles  of  joy,  the  tears  of  woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow  ; 
There's  nothing  true  but  Heaven! 

And  false  the  light  on  glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  even ; 
And  love,  and  hope,  and  beauty's  bloom 
Are  blossoms  gathered  from  the  tomb  ; 

There's  nothing  bright  but  Heaven ! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day. 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven ; 
And  fancy's  flash,  and  reason's  ray, 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way  ; 
There's  nothing  calm  but  Heaven! 

To  those  whose  heavenly-mindedness  is  pure  enough  to 
long  for  the  future  without  being  embittered  with  the  pre- 
sent, this  hymn  expresses  a  Christian's  preference  for 
heaven  ;  a  peaceful  and  holy  superiority  to  the  vanities  of 
earth  ;  but  on  other  lips  it  may  have  another  meaning :  it 
may  be  the  language  of  one  who  turns  plaintively  towards 
heaven  in  the  crisis  of  bitter  disappointment  and  vexation 
with  the  falsehoods  of  this  world.  Those  who  can  sing 
from  their  hearts — 

Thou  Iniow'st  in  the  spirit  of  prayer, 

"We  long  Thy  appearing  to  see, 
Resign'd  to  the  bui'den  we  bear. 

But  longing  to  triumph  with  Thee  ; 
'Tis  good  at  Thy  word  to  be  here, 

'Tis  better  in  Thee  to  be  gone, 
And  see  Thee  in  glory  appear, 

And  rise  to  a  share  in  Thy  throne  ; 


SONGS  OF  GLORY.  351 

those  who  in  "patience  possess  their  souls,"  while  they 
linger  in  sweet  suspense  on  the  shadowy  borders  of  time, 
love  rather  the  quiet  and  submissive  joyfulness  of  songs 
like  Anne  Steele's  hymn  on  "  The  Promised  Land."  Peace- 
fully looking  out  into  the  brightening  distance  from  her 
chamber  of  sickness,  or  from  her  garden  terrace,  where 
her  Saviour's  strength  was  made  perfect  in  her  weakness, 
or  from  the  avenue  of  fir-trees  where  whispers  of  mortal 
strife  sometimes  touched  her  ear,  she  used  to  sing : — 

Far  from  these  narrow  scenes  of  night 

Unbounded  glories  rise, 
And  realms  of  infinite  delight, 

Unknown  to  mortal  eyes. 

Far  distant  land  !  could  mortal  eyes 

But  half  its  joys  explore, 
How  would  our  spirits  long  to  rise, 

And  dwell  on  earth  no  more  ! 

There  pain  and  sickness  never  come, 

And  grief  no  more  complains  ! 
Health  triumphs  in  immortal  bloom, 

And  endless  pleasure  reigns  ! 

From  discord  free,  and  war's  alarms, 

And  want  and  pining  care  ; 
Plenty  and  peace  unite  their  charms. 

And  smile  unchanging  there. 

There  rich  varieties  of  joy 

Continual  feast  the  mind  ; 
Pleasures  which  fill,  but  never  cloy, 

Immortal  and  refined ! 

No  factious  strife,  no  envy  there, 

The  sons  of  peace  molest ; 
But  harmony  and  love  sincere 

Fill  every  happy  breast. 

No  cloud  those  blissful  regions  know. 

For  ever  bright  and  fair  ! 
For  sin,  the  source  of  mortal  woe. 

Can  never  enter  there. 

There  no  alternate  night  is  known, 

Nor  sun's  faint  sickly  ray; 
But  glory  from  the  sacred  throne 

Spreads  everlasting  day. 

The  glorious  monarch  there  displays 

His  beams  of  wondrous  grace  ; 
His  happy  subjects  sing  His  praisr, 

And  bow  before  His  face. 


352  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Oh  may  the  heavenly  prospect  fire 

Our  hearts  with  ardent  love, 
Till  ways  of  faith  and  strong  desire 

Bear  every  thought  above. 

Prepare  us,  Lord,  by  grace  Divine, 

For  Thy  bright  courts  on  high  ; 
Then  bid  our  spirits  rise  and  join 

The  chorus  of  the  sky. 

Who  can  sing  of  Canaan  without  recalling  some  lovely 
scenes  of  southern  England,  and  thinking  of  one  whose 
harp  was  often  strung  in  praise  of — 

Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood  ? 

In  the  year  1782,  there  was  a  deacon  of  the  Independent 
church  at  Southampton,  whose  son,  in  his  eighteenth  year, 
felt,  now  and  then,  during  the  Sunday  psalm  or  hymn, 
somewhat  like  a  finely  sensitive  ear  feels  at  the  sound  of  a 
file  sharpening  a  saw ;  and  he  complained  that  the  old 
hymnists  were  sadly  out  of  taste.  "  Give  us  something 
better,  young  man,"  was  the  reply.  The  young  man  did 
it ;  and  the  church  was  invited  to  close  its  evening  service 
with  a  new  hymn,  thus  : — 

Behold  the  glories  of  the  Lamb 

Amidst  His  Father's  throne ; 
Prepare  new  honours  for  His  name, 

Ajid  songs  before  unknown. 

Let  elders  worship  at  His  feet, 

The  church  adore  around, 
"With  vials  full  of  odours  sweet, 

And  harps  of  sweeter  sound. 

Those  are  the  prayers  of  the  saints. 

And  those  the  hymns  they  raise  : 
Jesus  is  kind  to  our  complaints, 

He  loves  to  hear  our  praise. 

Eternal  Father,  who  shall  look 

Into  Thy  secret  will  ? 
"Who  but  the  Son  shall  take  that  book, 

And  open  every  seal  ? 

He  shall  fulfil  Thy  great  decrees, 

The  Son  deserves  it  well ; 
Lo,  in  His  hand  the  sov'reign  keys 

Of  heaven,  and  death,  and  hell ! 

Now  to  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain, 

Be  endless  blessings  paid ; 
Salvation,  glory,  joy  remain 

For  ever  on  Thy  head. 


SONGS  OF  GLORY.  363 

Thou  hast  redeem'd  our  souls  with  blood, 

Hast  set  the  pris'uers  free, 
Hast  made  us  kings  and  priests  to  God, 

And  we  shall  reign  with  Thee. 

The  worlds  of  nature  and  of  grace 

Are  put  beneath  Thy  power ; 
Then  shorten  these  delaying  days, 

And  bring  the  i^romised  hour ! 

This  was  Isaac  TVatts's  first  liymn;  a  uew  vein  of  song 
was  opened ;  the  little  hymnist  had  struck  a  chord  which 
gave  birth  to  fresh  harmonies  in  the  chui'ch.  Hymn  fol- 
lowed hymn,  until  the  young  essayist  published  his  first 
and  successful  edition  of  "Hymns  and  Spiritual  Songs." 
Young  poets  are  susceptible  of  love  and  beauty,  and  Isaac 
soon  paid  court  to  the  accomplished  and  pious  Elizabeth 
Singer,  afterwards  better  known  as  Mrs.  Eowe.  She  told 
her  suitor  that  she  loved  the  jewel,  but  could  not  admire 
the  casket,  and  thus  lost  the  honour  of  being  Mrs.  Watts  ; 
while  she  sent  the  grieved  young  Chi-istian  poet  to  his 
Saviour's  feet,  devoutly  to  consecrate  himself  for  life  to 
science,  philosophy,  literature,  and  the  service  of  holy  song. 
How  sweetly  his  disappointment  in  the  creature  melts  in 
devotion  to  his  Lord  : — 

How  vain  are  all  things  here  below  ! 

How  false,  and  yet  how  fair  ! 
Each  pleasure  hath  its  poison  too, 

And  every  sweet  a  snare. 

The  brightest  things  below  the  sky- 
Give  but  a  flatt'ring  light ; 

We  should  suspect  some  danger  nigh 
Where  we  possess  delight. 

Our  dearest  joys  and  nearest  friends, 

The  partners  of  our  blood, 
How  they  divide  our  wav'ring  minds, 

And  leave  but  half  for  God. 

The  fondness  of  a  creatxire's  love. 

How  strong  it  strikes  the  sense  ! 
Thither  the  warm  affections  move. 

Nor  can  we  call  them  thence. 

Dear  Saviour !  let  Thy  beauties  be 

My  soul's  eternal  food, 
Ajid  g^ace  command  my  heart  away 

From  all  created  good. 


354  nYMN-"WRITEKS  AND  THEIK  HYMNS. 

Thus  driven  back  from  the  pursuit  of  conjugal  pleasures, 
he  turns  to  the  future  with  more'  entire  aifection.  Heaven 
brightens  on  him  as  earth  withholds  its  smile  ;  and  sitting 
at  his  parlour  window,  looking  out  upon  the  waters  of  the 
Itchen,  with  the  Isle  of  AVight  in  the  distance,  and  the 
rich  landscape  opening  its  inviting  beauties  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  he  thought  of  Canaan,  and  the  Jordan, 
and  the  final  passage,  and  the  calm  and  immortal  repose  of 
the  inheritance  beyond ;  and  then  arose  that  soothing 
and  cheering  hymn  which,  as  long  as  Christianity  expresses 
its  hopes  in  the  English  language,  will  pleasantly  sustain 
its  title  in  the  hearts  of  God's  children,  and  assure  them 
that  "a  prospect  of  heaven  makes  death  easy."  How 
many  souls  have  felt  this  prospect  brightening  as  they 
sang : — 

There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 

Where  saints  immortal  reig-n  ; 
Infinite  day  excludes  the  night, 

^\jid  pleasures  banish  pain. 

There  everlasting  spring  abides, 

And  never -"with'ring  flowers  ; 
Death,  like  a  narrow  sea,  divides 

This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 

Sweet  fields,  beyond  the  swelling  flood,- 

Stand  dress' d  in  living  green  ; 
So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood. 

While  Jordan  rolled  between. 

But  tim'rous  mortals  start  and  shrink 

To  cross  this  narrow  sea  ; 
And  linger,  shivering  on  the  brink, 

And  fear  to  launch  away. 

Oh  !  could  we  make  our  doubts  remove, 

Those  gloomy  doubts  that  rise, 
And  see  the  Canaan  that  we  love 

With  unbeclouded  eyes ! 

Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 
Not  Jordan's  stream,  nor  death's  cold  flood. 

Should  fright  us  from  the  shore. 

Watts  passed  from  the  mortal  shore,  and  happily 
crossed  the  river,  in  his  seventy-fifth  year,  after  a  season  of 

Calm  decay  and  peace  divine. 


SONGS  OF  GLORY.  355 

The  beautiful  retirement  and  holy  friendships  of  Abney 
Park,  the  last  retreat  of  "Watts,  would  be  associated  in 
the  mind  who  loves  sweet  song-s  of  glory,  with  a  picture 
once  exhibited  in  the  Eoyal  Academy — a  picture  of  Greorge 
Herbert  in  his  garden  at  Bemerton.  That  garden  was  the 
little  earthly  paradise  where  Herbert  used  to  sing  of  a 
brighter  laud,  and  pour  forth  his  warm  desires  for  freedom 
to  wing  his  way  to  rest.  His  paradise  at  Bemerton  de- 
tained him  but  a  little  more  than  two  years.  Just  before 
his  soul  ceased  to  be 

An  entangled,  hampered  tiling-, 

he  put  a  small  manuscript  into  a  friend's  hand,  saying, 
"  Sir,  I  pray  deliver  this  little  book  to  my  dear  brother 
Farrer,  and  tell  him  he  shall  find  in  it  a  picture  of  the 
many  spiritual  conflicts  that  have  passed  betwixt  God  and 
my  soul  before  I  would  subject  mine  to  the  will  of  Jesus 
my  Master,  in  whose  service  I  have  now  found  perfect 
freedom.  Desire  him  to  read  it,  and  then,  if  he  can  think 
it  may  turn  to  the  advantage  of  any  dejected  poor  soul,  let 
it  be  made  public ;  if  not,  let  him  burn  it,  for  I  and  it  are 
less  than  the  least  of  God's  mercies."  "  Brother  Farrer  " 
did  not  burn  it :  it  was  too  precious  a  legacy  ;  and  were 
there  nothing  else  in  it  but  his  hymn  of  desire  after  God 
and  his  "Home,"  it  would  be  truly  "  the  precious  life-blood 
of  a  master  spirit,  embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose 
to  a  life  beyond  life."  The  song  has  a  quaintness,  here 
and  there,  which  scarcely  suits  the  modern  taste ;  there 
are  little  curious  conceits  and  grotesque  allusions,  which 
to  us  do  not  appear  as  natural  as  they  really  were  to  the 
writer  himself ;  but  the  exquisite  fancy,  the  rich  imagina- 
tion, the  pregnant  thought,  the  spiritual  music,  and  the 
intenselj^  boly  feeling  which  show  themselves  in  "the 
Temple,"  all  combine  in  his  rhythmical  praj^er  for  the 
freedom  of  "  Home,"  and  invite  us  to  chant : — 

Come,  Lord,  my  head  doth  burn,  my  heart  is  sick, 

While  Thou  dost  ever,  ever  stay ; 

Thy  long  deferrings  wound  me  to  the  quick. 

My  spirit  gaspeth  night  and  day. 

Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 

Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 


356  HYM^r-■v^EITEKS  and  their  hymns. 

Yet  if  Thou  stayest  still,  why  must  I  stay  ? 

My  G-od,  what  is  this  world  to  me  ? 
This  world  of  woe  ?    Hence,  all  ye  clouds,  away. 
Away,  I  must  get  up  and  see. 
Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

Wliat  is  this  weary  world,  this  meat  and  drink, 

That  chains  vis  by  the  teeth  so  fast  ? 
What  is  this  woman-kind,  which  I  can  wink 
Into  a  blackness  and  distaste  ? 
Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

With  one  small  sigh  Tliou  gavest  me  th'  other  day 

I  blasted  all  the  joys  about  me  ; 
And  scowling  on  them  as  they  pined  away, 
Now  come  again,  said  I,  and  plant  me. 
Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

Nothing  but  drought  and  dearth,  but  buijh  and  brake, 

Which  way  soe'er  I  look,  I  see. 
Some  may  d)eam  merrily,  and  when  they  wake, 
They  dress  themselves  and  come  to  Th.ee> 
Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  !. 

We  talk  of  harvests ;  there  are  no  such  things, 

But  when  we  leave  our  com  and  hay  ; 
There  is  no  fruitfid  yeai",  but  that  which  brings 
The  last  and  loved,  though  dreadful  day. 
Oh  show  Thj'self  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee ! 

Oh  loose  this  frame,  this  knot  of  man  untie, 

That  my  free  soul  may  use  her  wing, 

Which  now  is  pinion" d  with  mortality, 

As  an  entangled,  hampered  tiling. 

Oh  show  Thyself  to  me. 

Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

What  have  I  left,  that  I  should  stay  and  groan  ? 

The  most  of  me  to  heaven  is  fled  ; 
My  thoughts  and  joys  are  all  pack'd  up  and  gone, 
And  for  their  old  acqviaintance  plead. 
Oh  show  ThJ^self  to  me. 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

Come,  dearest  Lord,  pass  not  this  holy  season, 
My  flesh  and  bones  and  joints  do  pray  ; 


SONGS  OF  GLORY.  357 

And  even  my  verse,  when  by  the  rhyme  and  reason 
The  word  is  ston,  says  ever,  come. 
Oh  show  Thyself  to  me, 
Or  take  me  up  to  Thee  ! 

Herbert's  hymn  found  an  echo  from  the  parish  of 
another  country  parson.  John  Mason  may  have  heard 
the  voice  from  Bemerton  in  his  rectory  at  Water-Stratford. 
At  all  events  he  breathed  the  spirit  of  Herbert ;  his  man- 
ner is  somewhat  akin,  and  his  diction  marks  his  brother- 
hood. Like  his  predecessor  in  quaint  but  hallowed  song, 
the  secret  of  Mason's  sweetness  and  power  in  divine  melody 
■was  found  in  his  private  devotion.  Six  times  a  day  he  went 
aside  to  wrestle  with  his  Lord  in  prayer ;  and  his  character 
and  life  exemplified  the  saying,  "When  thou  prayest,  enter 
into  thy  closet,  and  when  thou  hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to 
thy  Father  which  is  in  secret ;  and  thy  Father  which  seeth 
in  secret  shall  reward  thee  openly."  The  reward  came  on 
Mason  in  his  strength  to  labour,  and  his  grace  to  sing ;  in 
the  fruit  of  his  happy  toil  among  his  parishioners,  and  in 
the  joys  which  his  songs  of  praise  called  up  around  him 
while  he  lived,  and  perpetuated  in  the  heart  of  successive 
generations  with  whom,  though  dead,  he  yet  sings.  His 
voice  is  still  in  our  ears  in  his  "Song  of  Praise  for  the 
Hope  of  Glory:"— 

I  sojourn  in  a  vale  of  tears, 

Alas,  how  can  I  sing  ? 
M\^  harp  doth  on  the  willows  hang, 

Distuned  in  every  string. 
My  music  is  a  captive's  chains. 

Harsh  sounds  my  ears  do  fill ; 
How  shall  I  sing  sweet  Sion's  song 

On  this  side  Sion's  hill  ? 

Yet  lo!  I  hear  a  joyful  sound, 

Surely  I  quickly  come; 
Each  word  much  sweetness  doth  distil, 

Like  a  full  honey-comb. 
And  dost  Thou  come,  my  dearest  Lord  ? 

And  dost  Thou  surely  come  ? 
And  dost  Thou  surely  quickly  come  ? 

Methinks  I  am  at  home. 

Come  then,  my  dearest,  dearest  Lord, 

My  sweetest,  sui-est  Friend ; 
Come,  for  I  loathe  these  Kedar  tents, 

The  fiery  chariots  send. 


358  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HTMXS. 

What  have  I  here  ?  my  thoughts  and  jots 
Are  all  pack'd  up  and  gone  ; 

My  eager  soul  would  follow  them 
"To  Thine  eternal  throne. 

"UTiat  have  I  in  this  barren  land  ? 

My  Jesus  is  not  here  : 
Mine  eyes  will  ne'er  be  blest,  until 

My  Jesus  doth  appear. 
My  Jesus  is  gone  up  to  heaven 

To  get  a  place  for  me  ; 
For  'tis  His  will  that  where  He  is, 

There  should  His  servants  be. 

Canaan  I  view  from  Pisgah's  top, 

Of  Canaan's  grajjes  I  taste  ; 
My  Lord,  who  sends  unto  me  here. 

Will  send  for  me  at  last. 
I  have  a  God  that  change th  not. 

Why  should  I  be  perplext '? 
My  God,  that  owns  me  in  this  world. 

Will  own  me  in  the  next. 

Go  fearless,  then,  my  soul,  with  God 

Into  another  room  ; 
Thou,  who  hast  walked  with  Him  here. 

Go  see  thy  God  at  home. 
View  death  with  a  believing  eye. 

It  hath  an  angel's  face ; 
And  this  kind  angel  will  prefer 

Thee  to  an  angel's  place. 

The  grave  is  but  a  fining  pot 

Unto  believing  eyes. 
For  there  the  flesh  shall  lose  its  dross, 

And  like  the  sun  shall  rise. 
The  world,  which  I  have  known  too  well. 

Hath  mocked  me  with  its  lies ; 
I  How  gladly  could  I  leave  behind 

Its  vexing  vanities ! 

My  dearest  friends  they  dwell  above, 

There  will  I  go  to  see ; 
And  all  my  friends  in  Christ  below 

Will  soon  come  after  me. 
Fear  not  the  trump's  earth-rending  sound, 

Dread  not  the  day  of  doom, 
I  For  He  that  is  to  be  thy  judge, 

Thy  Saviour  is  become. 

Blest  be  my  God  that  gives  me  light, 
Who  in  the  dark  did  grope  ; 

Blest  be  my  God,  the  God  of  love, 
Who  causeth  me  to  hope. 


SONGS  OF  GLOEY.  359 

Here's  the  Word's  signet,  comfort's  staff, 

And  here  is  grace's  chain  ; 
By  these  Thy  pledges,  Lord,  I  kno-w 

My  hopes  are  not  in  vain. 

There  are  some  modern  songs  of  glory  which  are  in 
STveet  harmony  with  Herbert's  music  about  "  Home,"  and 
with  the  echoes  of  that  music  from  the  soul  of  the  saintly 
Mason.  There  are  "Parish  Musings,"  which,  as  the 
musing  hymnist  modestly  says,  claim  no  merit  but  this, 
"that  they  are  practical,  not  theoi-etical ;  not  the  cold 
musings  of  the  head  of  one  at  ease,  but  the  warm  gushings 
of  the  heart  of  one  toiling  himself,  and  striving  to  lead 
others  amid  the  dust  and  conflict  of  the  journey  of  life." 
Ears  that  are  finely  tuned  may,  even  in  the  passing  bell, 
hear  the  Master's  voice,  "Arise,  let  us  go  hence;"  but  the 
voice,  though  solemn,  is  happy,  for  it  calls  us  towards 
"Home:"— 

Deep  tolls  the  muffled  bell 

With  its  voice  of  woe  ; 
Bidding  solemn,  sad  farewell 
To  all  things  below ; 

Home,  home ! 

Come  home  ! 
Thus  it  seems  to  say — 

Where  rest 

Awaits  the  blest. 
In  eternal  day ! 

Sweet  sounds  the  Sabbath  bell, 

Summoning  to  prayer. 
Bidding  cheerful,  glad  farewell 
To  all  worldly  care  ; 

Oh !  enter  in. 

And  from  sin, 
Thus  it  seems  to  say — 

Here  rest. 

Where  the  blest 
Come  to  kneel  and  pray  I 

Lord !  so  true  to  Thee  alone, 
Tune  this  discordant  soul. 
That  with  the  same  soft  Sabbath  tone 
Whenever  it  may  toll ; 

That  sweet  bell 

Of  joy  may  tell. 
And  ever  seem  to  say — 

Home,  home! 

Come  home ! 
Come  to  Christ  away  ! 


360  HYMN-WRITEES  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

Do  we  cry,  in  chiildlike  longing,  "When,  Lord?"  and 
"How  long?"  the  same  sweet  psalmist  gives  the  answer, 
"  Soon  and  for  ever!"  "  Gro  thou  thy  way  till  the  end  be  ; 
for  thou  shalt  rest,  and  stand  in  thy  lot  at  the  end  of  the 
days."  Mr.  Monsell  brings  a  holy  song  out___of  "  a  dying 
Christian's  last  words,"  thus  : — 

"  Soon  and  for  ever," 

Such  promise  our  trust, 
Tho'  ashes  to  ashes, 

And  dust  unto  dust : 
"  Soon  and  for  ever  " 

Our  union  shall  be 
Made  perfect,  our  glorious 

Redeemer,  in  Thee  ; 
When  the  sins  and  the  sorrows 

Of  time  shall  be  o'er, 
Its  pangs  and  its  partings 

Remembered  no  more ; 
Where  life  cannot  fail. 

And  where  death  cannot  sever, 
Christians  with  Christ  shall  be 

"  Soon  and  for  ever." 

"  Soon  and  for  ever," 

The  breaking  of  day- 
Shall  drive  all  the  night-clouds 

Of  sorrow  away : 
*'  Soon  and  for  ever," 

We'll  see  as  we're  seen, 
And  learn  the  deep  meaning 

Of  things  that  have  been  ; 
When  fightings  without  us. 

And  fears  from  within. 
Shall  weary  no  more 

In  the  warfare  with  sin ; 
Where  fears,  and  where  tears. 

And  where  death  shall  be  never  j 
Christians  with  Christ  shall  be 

"  Soon  and  for  ever." 

"  Soon  and  for  ever," 

The  work  shall  be  done  ; 
The  warfare  accomplish'd, 

The  victory  won : 
"  Soon  and  for  ever," 

The  soldier  lay  down 
His  sword  for  a  harp, 

And  his  cross  for  a  crown. 
Then  droop  not  in  sorrow, 

Despond  not  in  fear ; 


SONGS  OP  GLORY.  361 

A  glorious  to-morro-w 

Is  brio-htenina'  and  near ; 
When  (blessed  reward 

Of  each  faithful  endeavour) 
Christians  with  Christ  shall  be 

"  Soon  and  for  ever." 

Mr.  Mousell  is  always  sweet  and  pleasant,  though  his 
music  has  mostly  a  plaintive  tone,  even  when  he  sings  of 
heaven.  To  some  spirits  this  tone  is  always  welcome ;  to 
others  the  future  is  full  of  bright,  cheerful,  and  exultant 
songs.  In  dispensing  "psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual 
songs,"  the  inspiring  Spirit  deals  with  us  according  to  oiu' 
faith. 

"  I  remember,"  said  an  old  man,  the  other  day,  his  face 
brightening  with  the  recollections  which  he  was  calling  up 
— "I  remember,  some  years  ago,  a  minister  coming  into 
our  neighbourhood  to  preach.  He  was  a  good  man,  and  a 
good  preacher ;  but  I  can  mind  his  singing  much  better 
than  his  sermons.  He  used  to  preach  not  far  from  where 
I  lived;  and  when  I  saw  the  people  flocking  to  the  chapel, 
I  used  to  go  to  hear  the  famous  singer.  Ah,  he  was  a 
singer !  And  I  believe  one  great  secret  of  his  music  was, 
that  his  heart  was  in  it.  His  voice  was  like  an  angel's,  as 
they  say,  though  I  never  heard  an  angel  sing ;  but  I  can 
scarcely  think  that  an  angel,  or  any  other  singer,  could 
beat  that  happy-looking  preacher.  He  was  a  man  with  a 
long  face,  and  a  high,  bald  head.  And  his  eyes  used  to 
sparkle  as  he  sang,  as  if  the  hymns  were  coming  up  from 
his  soul;  and  so  they  did.  There  was  one  hymn  I  always 
liked  to  hear  him  sing,  he  would  sing  it  after  the  sermon ; 
it  was  one  of  his  own  composing,  and  the  tune  was  his,  too. 
I  learnt  to  sing  it  mj^self,  and  I  taught  my  boy  to  sing  it ; 
and  sometimes,  long  after  that  singing  preacher  was  gone 
to  his  own  '  Jerusalem  divine,'  my  boy  and  I,  and  three  or 
foui"  more,  used  to  get  together  of  an  evening,  and  sing  it 
in  full  harmony.  Oh,  it  was  so  rich  ;  and  it  seemed  to  lift 
one  towards  heaven  while  we  sang.  This  was  the 
hymn : "  — 

Jerusalem  divine, 

When  shall  I  call  thee  mine  ? 
And  to  thy  holy  hill  attain, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  rest, 

And  in  thy  glories  blest, 
With  God  Messiah  ever  reign  ? 


;i(i:i  nYMX-wiaxERS  and  their  hymns. 

The  saints  and  angels  join 

In  fellowshiiJ  divine, 
And  raptnrc  swells  the  solemn  lay  : 

While  all  "with  one  accord 

Adore  their  glorious  Lord, 
And  shout  His  j)raise  in  endless  day. 

May  I  but  find  the  grace 

To  fill  an  humble  place 
In  that  inheritance  above  ; 

My  tuneful  voice  I'll  raise 

In  songs  of  loudest  praise, 
To  spread  Thy  fame,  Redeeming  Love ! 

Reign,  true  Messiah,  reign! 

Thy  kingdom  shall  remain 
When  stars  and  sun  no  more  shall  shine, 

Mysterious  Deity, 

Who  ne'er  began  to  be. 
To  sound  Thy  endless  praise  be  mine  ! 

The  musical  preacher  and  hymnist  left  happy  impres- 
sions upon  ^-erj'  many  souls,  besides  the  old  man  who  re- 
corded his  music.  The  preacher  was  Benjamin  Rhodes, 
the  son  of  a  schoolmaster  at  Hexborough,  in  the  West 
Riding  of  Yorkshire.  He  was  born  in  the  year  1743,  and 
had  the  advantage  of  a  pious  training  by  godlj^  parents. 
Before  he  was  eleven  years  of  age,  his  fathtr  took  him  to 
hear  Mr.  Whitefield  ;  he  was  melted  into  tears,  and  re- 
ceived religious  impressions  which,  though  dimmed  occa- 
sionally during  his  youthful  course,  finally  led  him  to 
Cliristian  decision  and  eminent  devotedness  to  Christ. 
When  about  nineteen,  his  religious  enjoyments  were  great. 
"  In  this  happy  season,"  he  tells  us,  "  my  joy  frequently 
prevented  my  sleep,  while  my  soul  was  taken  up  with  Him 
who  is  altogether  lovely ;  and  in  ecstasies  of  joy,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  I  often  sang  my  great  Deliverer's 
praise."  Thus  his  native  musical  powers,  and  his  talent 
as  a  hymnist,  were  hallowed  by  religious  delight.  In  the 
year  1766,  he  was  employed  by  Mr.  AVesley  as  an  itinerant 
preacher,  and  was  faithful  and  happy  in  that  calling  for 
about  half  a  century.  His  end  answered  to  the  simj^licit}" 
of  his  character  and  the  integrity  of  his  life  ;  it  was  peace. 
He  is  now  honoured  as  the  author  of  that  one  hymn,  the 
latter  part  of  which  the  old  man  used  to  sing  with  such 
l^leasure.     Mr.  Ehodes  was  not  a  rival  of  Charles  Wesley, 


SONGS  OF  GLOEY.  S6o 

but  his  "  Jerusalem  divine  "  ma}'  be  a  companion  liymu 
for  Wesley's  sougs  of  glory,  tlio  songs  which,  probably, 
come  nearest  to  the  apostolic  standard  of  Christian  hope. 
One  of  them  melted  the  judge  and  the  entire  court  in  Exeter 
Castle,  about  twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago.  A  good  young 
woman  had  been  set  upon  by  a  villain,  ou  her  way  from  the 
Sunday  school,  and  was  left  for  dead  by  the  roadside.  On 
being  discovered,  she  was  restored  to  consciousness  so  far 
as  to  identify  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime ;  and  then  she 
died,  singing  one  of  Charles  Wesley's  triumphant  anthems 
of  hope  :  — 

How  happy  every  child  of  grace, 

Wlio  knows  his  sins  forgiven  ! 
This  earth,  he  cries,  is  not  my  place, 

I  seek  my  place  in  heaven  ; 
A  country  far  from  mortal  sight  ; — 

Yet,  oh  !  by  faith  I  see 
The  land  of  rest,  the  saints'  delight. 

The  heaven  prepared  for  me. 

A  stranger  in  the  woaid  below, 

I  calmly  sojourn  here  ; 
Nor  can  its  happiness  or  woe 

Provoke  my  hop>e  or  fear : 
Its  evils  in  a  moment  end. 

Its  joys  as  soon  are  past ; 
But,  oh !  the  bliss  to  which  I  tend 

Eternally  shall  last. 

To  that  Jerusalem  above 

"With  singing  I  repair  ; 
While  in  the  flesh  my  hojie  and  love. 

My  heart  and  soul  are  there ; 
There  my  exalted  Savioiu'  stands. 

My  merciful  High  Priest, 
And  stUl  extends  His  wounded  hands 

To  take  me  to  His  breast. 

What  is  there  here  to  coiirt  my  stay, 

Or  hold  me  back  from  home, 
While  angels  beckon  me  away. 

And  Jesus  bids  me  come  ? 
Shall  I  regret  my  parted  friends 

Still  in  the  vale  confined  ? 
Nay,  but  whene'er  my  soul  ascends. 

They  will  not  stay  behind. 


3G4  HYMN-WRITERS  AND  THEIR  HYMNS. 

The  race  we  all  are  running  now ; 

And  if  I  first  attain, 
They  too  their  willing  head  shall  bow, 

They  too  the  prize  shall  gain. 
Now  on  the  brink  of  death  we  stand  ; 

And  if  I  pass  before, 
They  all  shall  soon  escape  to  land, 

And  hail  me  on  the  shore. 

Then  let  me  suddenly  remove, 

That  hidden  life  to  share  ; 
I  shall  not  lose  my  friends  above, 

But  more  enjoy  them  there. 
There  we  in  Jesu's  praise  shall  join, 

His  boundless  love  proclaim, 
And  solemnize  in  songs  divine 

The  marriage  of  the  Lamb. 

Oh,  what  a  blessed  hope  is  ours  ! 

While  here  on  earth  we  stay. 
We  more  than  taste  the  heavenly  powers, 

And  antedate  that  day : 
We  feel  the  resurrection  near, 

Our  life  in  Christ  conceal'd. 
And  with  His  glorious  presence  here 

Our  earthen  vessels  fill'd. 

Oh,  would  He  more  of  heaven  bestow, 

And  let  the  vessel  break. 
And  let  our  ransom'd  spirits  go 

To  grasp  the  God  we  seek : 
In  rapt'rous  awe  on  Him  to  gaze 

Who  bought  the  sight  for  me  ; 
And  shout,  and  wonder  at  His  grace, 

Through  all  eternity ! 

The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  at  the  murderer's  trial, 
in  his  appeal  to  the  jmy,  described  the  death-scene,  and 
rehearsed  the  hymn,  a  pare  of  ^yhich  the  dying  girl  sang 
on  her  iipward  flight.  The  judge,  the  jury,  all  but  the 
prisoner,  wept.  Who  could  help  it  ?  To  hear,  in  that 
solemn  court,  the  youthful  martyr's  song  of  glory  !  and 
such  a  song  I  Many  hearts  there  on  that  day  were  ready 
to  repeat  the  last  song  of  the  young  murdered  Chris- 
tian : — 

Oh,  would  He  more  of  heaven  bestow, 

And  let  the  vessel  break. 
And  let  our  ransom'd  spirits  go 

To  grasp  the  God  we  seek ! 

THE   END. 


INDEX  TO    THE   HYMNS. 


A  STTEE  stronghold  oiir  God  is  He Luther 11 

All  praise  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night ....     Ken 53 

A  hymn  of  glory  let  us  sing Bede 79 

Away  with  our  sorrow  and  fear C.  Wesley 155 

Almighty  Father !  the  rolling  year  is  full 

of  Thee TJiompso>i 178 

AU  thanks  be  to  God C.  Wesley 215 

All  praise  to  the  Lord    C.  Wesley 234 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun Ken 24-1 

Among  those  points  of  neighbourhood  ....      Wither 283 

Abide  with  me !     Fast  falls  the  eventide  . .  Henry  F.  Lyte  . .  295 

Before  Thy  heavenly  Word  revealed  ....  Mrs.  Julius  Collins  1 8 

Bright  the  visionjthat  delighted Mant 31 

Babe,  the  gift  of  God's  sweet  mercy   Ephrem  Syrus. ...  59 

By  cool  Siloam's  shady  rill   Heber   62 

Before  the  need-fare Bede 78 

Before  Jehovah's  awful  throne   Watts   158 

Blest  day  of  God,  most  calm,  most  bright. .     Mason 204 

Blest  day  by  God  in  mercy  given   Mant    208 

Brightly  shines  the  morning  star   Translation  by  Mant  243 

Brother,  thou  art  gone  before  us Milman     325 

Blessing,  honour,  thanks  and  praise C.  Wesley 328 

Behold  the  glories  of  the  Lamb   Watts  352 

Cheist,  Thou  the  champion  of  that  war- 
worn host    Lotvenstern 11 

Christ,  my  God,  I  come  to  praise  Thee   ....  Gregory  of  Nazianzen  5 1 

Christ,  our  day,  our  brightest  light    St.  Augnsiine's  time  54 

2  A 


366  INDEX  TO  THE  HYMIs^S. 

PAGE 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  our  souls  inspire  Gregory  I.    71 

Can  I  my  fate  no  more  "withstand Queen  Maria  of  Hungary  104 

Come,  then,  Thou  great  Deliverer,  come   . .     C.  Wesley 151 

Come  let  us  join  our  friends  above C.  Wesley 156,331 

Come  ye  that  love  the  Lord  Watts   157 

Come,  oh  come  !  in  pious  lays   Wither 172 

Come,  Thou  all  victorious  Lord  C.  Wesley 214 

Come,  Di^dne  Immanuel,  come    0.  Wesley 218 

Come,  O  Thou  traveller  unknown     C.  Wesley 222 

Come,  Thou  fount  of  every  blessing   Robinson  225 

Come,  let  us  anew  our  journey  pursue   ....      C.  Wesley 262 

Come,  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs   Watts 270 

Come,  all  ye  chosen  saints  of  God Joseph  Hart 308 

Come,  ye  siuners  poor  and  wretched Joseph  Hart 313 

Come,  immortal  King  of  Glory    T.  Olivers 341 

Come,  Lord,  my  head  doth  bum,  my  heart 

is  sick    Herbert    355 

Christ,  whose  glory  fills  the  sky C.  Wesley 255 

Deae  is  the  hallowed  morn  to  me  Allan  Cunningham  209 

Dark  and  dim  the  daylight  rose Monsell 317 

Down  from  the  willow  bough Caroline  Bowles  . .  320 

Deep  tolls  the  muffled  bell  Monsell 359 

Peom  out  midnight  sleep  uprising    Early  Christian  . .  32 

Fix,  oh  fix  each  crimson  wound St.  Bernard 90 

Fear  not,  oh  little  flock,  the  foe Altenburg     103 

Father  of  mercies,  in  Thy  Word Ayine  Steele 182 

Far  from  these  narrow  scenes  of  night ....     Anne  Steele 351 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild C.  Wesley 68 

God  save  our  gracious  Queen Dr.  John  Bull. ...  113 

Glory,  and  honour,  and  praise Theodulf  of  Orleans  117 

Great  God,  here  at  ease Madame  Guion. ...  123 

God  is  a  name  my  soul  adores   Watts   165 

God  of  my  days,  Gt  d  of  my  nights Susanna  Harrison  269 

God  of  my  life,  to  Thee C.Wesley 287 

Give  glory  to  Jesus  our  Head C.  Wesley 327 

Here  from  afar  the  finished  height C.  Wesley 46 

Hear  us  now,  0  King  eternal Gregory  of  Nazianzen  49 


INDEX  TO  THE  HYMNS.  367 

PAGB 

Holy  art  Thou,  holy ....  From  the  Saxon  in  the  '■'■Codex  Exoniensis"  75 

Hence  in  Thy  truth  Thy  Church  delights. .     3Iaiit     83 

High  the  angel  choirs  are  raising   Thomas  a    Kempis  98 

Holy  Spirit,  come,  we  pray Ki)>g  Robert  of  France  101 

Has  David  Christ  to  come  foreshow'd  ....  Samuel  TJ'es/ei/,  Jun.  133 

Hail  to  the  Lord's  Anointed .' James  3£ontgomery  138 

He  dies,  the  Friend  of  sinners  dies Watts   158 

How  happy  is  the  pilgTim's  lot John  Wesley    ....  160 

High  in  the  heavens,  eternal  G-od Watts   165 

How  shall  the  young  secure  their  hearts  . .      Watts   193 

Hail,  thou  bright  and  sacred  morn Mrs.  Lijte    196 

Hearken  to  the  solemn  voice   C.  Wesley     260 

How  sweet  and  awful  is  the  place Watts   270 

Hence,  ye  profane,  far  off  remove C.  Wesley 275 

Happy  soul,  thy  days  are  ended C.  Wesley 326 

How  vain  are  all  things  here  below   Watts   353 

How  happy  every  child  of  grace C.  Wesley 363 

I  LOVE  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the 

earth Qaarles     84 

I,  whom  of  late Wither 128 

If  thy  verse  do  bravely  tower Wither 129 

Inspirer  of  the  ancient  seers C.  Wesley 186 

In  age  and  feebleness  extreme    C.  Wesley 224 

I  hear  the  tempest's  awful  sound    Keu-ton 236 

If  Paul  in  Ccesar's  court  must  stand Nticton 239 

I  thank  my  Lord  for  kindly  rest Berridge   249 

Interval  of  grateful  shade Boddridye     264 

Is  it  not  strange,  the  darkest  hour Keble     307 

In  evil  long  I  took  delight    Newton 314 

In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death Notker 322 

In  the  midst  of  Ufe,  behold Lutlier 323 

I  sojoiu'n  in  a  vale  of  tears Mason   357 

JtrsT  as  I  am,  without  one  plea Charlotte  Elliott. .  39 

Jesus,  my  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  name  unite   . .     Anne  Steele 42 

Jesus,  the  only  thought  of  Thee St.  Bernard 86 

Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives 

Louisa  Henrietta,  Electress  of  Brandenburgh . .  105 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul C.  Wesley 152 

Jesus,  cast  a  look  on  me    Berridge  159 


368  INDEX  TO  THK  HYMNS. 

PAGE 

Jesu !  bless  oui'  slender  boat IFordsworth 229 

Jesus,  by  whose  grace  I  live Tuplady    246 

Jesus,  the  all-restoring  "Word C.  Wesley 256 

Join,  all  ye  ransomed  sons  of  grace    C.  Wesley 259 

Jemsalem  divine B.  Rhodes ........  361 

Jerusalem  the  golden     Bernard  of  Morlaix  95 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home Francis  Baker ....  118 

LoED,  Thou  art  God First  Christians  . .  16 

Long-suffering  Jesus,  precious  Jesus Early  Christian  . .  34 

Lead,  Holy  One,  lead Clement  of  Alexandria  47 

Lamb  of  God,  I  look  to  Thee   C.  Wesley 69 

Let  me  true  commimion  know St.  Bernard 93 

Leave  all  to  God Anthony  TJlriCjBiike  of  Brunswick  107 

Lord,  Thy  best  blessings  shed Henry  F.  Lyte. ...  115 

Let  earth  and  heaven  agree C.  Wesley 151 

Lord,  when  my  raptured  thought  surveys. .     Anne  Steele 174 

Lamp  of  our  feet,  whereby  we  trace Bernard  Barton  . .  191 

Listed  into  the  cause  of  sin C.  Wesley 220 

Launch  thy  bark,  mariner    Caroline  Bowles  . .  230 

Lord,  whom  winds  and  seas  obey  C.  Wesley 234 

Lord,  in  Thy  name  and  in  Thy  fear   ......      Wither 278 

Lord,  on  this  day  Thou  didst  bestow Wither 286 

Lo,  the  day  of  wrath,  the  day  Thomas  of  Celano  336 

My  fatherland  alone  to  me  remains Gregory  of  Nazianzen  50 

Maker  of  all,  the  Lord Ambrose  of  Milan  54 

My  dearest  Protector,  see  how  they  detain . .  Madame  Guion   ..  125 

My  Shepherd  will  supply  my  need Watts   140 

My  Lord,  my  love  was  crucified  Maion 206 

My  God,  now  I  from  sleep  .awake  Ken 267 

My  spirit  on  Thy  care   Henry  F.  Lyte ....  295 

My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray Charlotte  Elliott . .  302 

Now  it  belongs  not  to  my  care     Richard  Baxter   . .  299 

0  King  of  glory Bede 78 

O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend Burns   145 

O  Love  Divine,  how  sweet  thou  art    C.  Wesley 154 

Oh,  what  a  gloomy,  cheerless  scene Monsell 168 

Oh  book  !  infinite  sweetness !  let  my  heart     Herbert     192 

Oh  day  most  calm,  most  bright  Herbert    200 


INDEX  TO  THE  HYMNS.  369 

PAGE 

On  this  first  day,  when  heaven  and  earth 

From  Latin  hymn,  by  Mant  207 

O  Thou  who  didst  prepare C.  Wesley 232 

O  Thou  jealous  God !  come  down C.  Wesley 263 

Our  Jesus  freely  did  appear Berridge   285 

O  Lord,  my  best  desire  fulfil Cowper 300 

Oh  !  what  a  sad  and  doleful  night Joseph-  Hart 311 

PEAiSEDbe  Thy  name  for  ever,  O  our  King  Synagogue  Service  17 

Praise  to  God,  immortal  praise     Letitia  Barbauld. .  177 

Precious  Bible !  what  a  treasure Newton 189 

Peace  !  doubting  heart ;  my  God's  I  am ! . .  C.  Wesley 303 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  Toplady    35 

Redeemer  of  the  nations,  come Ephrem  Syrm ....  61 

Raise  the  conquering  martyr's  song Bede 80 

Rejoice  for  a  brother  deceased C.  Wesley 331 

Sing  unto  the  Lord ! Ancient  Israel. ...  2 

Sweet  hymns  I  attune   Synagogue  Hymn  of  Glory  17 

Sleep  well,  my  dear;  sleep  safe  and  free. . . .     Luther 63 

Sweet  baby,  sleep  ;  what  ails  my  dear  ?  . . . .      Wither 64 

See  how  great  a  flame  aspires G.  Wesley 212 

Since  Thou  hast  added  now,  O  God ! Wither 252 

Since  they  in  singing  take  delight Wither 281 

Sons  of  God  by  bless'd  adoption Joseph  Hart 325 

Sing  from  the  chamber  to  the  grave R.  S.  Hawker ....  334 

Stand  th'  omnipotent  decree  !    C.  Wesley 340 

Saviour,  when  in  dust  to  Thee Eobert  Grant   ....  319 

Soon  and  for  ever  Jlonsell 360 

The  God  of  Abraham  praise   T.  Olivers    24 

The  godly  grief,  the  pleasing  smart    C.  Wesley 34 

Thou  lovely  Source  of  true  delight Anne  Steele 40 

'Tis  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze Keble     55 

To  Thee,  O  God,  be  praises   Ephrem  Syrus ....  58 

They  say  'tis  a  sin  to  sorrow     R.  S.  Hawker 59 

'Twas  silence  in  Thy  temple,  Lord Keble    72 

This  is  joy,  this  is  true  pleasure  . . .  .Elizabeth,  Queen  of  Bohemia  110 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high Addison    137 

Thee,  0  Lord,  the  good,  the  just C.Wesley 142 

The  busy  tribes  of  flesh  and  blood   Watts   146 


370  INDEX  TO  THE  HYMNS. 

PAGE 

The  Lord  is  our  refuge,  the  Lord  is  our  guide  Henry  F.  Lyte. .. .  147 

The  roj-al  ensigns  onward  go   Vcnaidhis  Fortiinatm  76 

The  great  day  of  wrath  i»  coming Early  Judgment  Jlymn  82 

The  world  is  old  and  sinful    Bernard  oJ'Morlaix  94 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light T.  Moore 167 

There  is  a  book  who  runs  may  read    Kcbh    171 

The  table  of  my  heart  prepare   C.  Wesley 184 

The  Spirit  breathes  upon  the  word Cowpcr 187 

Thousands,  O  Lord  of  Hosts,  to-day, Hcbcr    199 

Thou  God  of  glorious  majesty. C.  JFesley 217 

Through  Jesii's  watcliful  care Birr i dye    247 

To  Jesus,  my  dear  Lord,  I  owe  . , Berridye   251 

Thou  Shepherd  of  Israel  and  mine C.  Wesley 276 

Thou  God  of  truth  and  love     C.  Wesley 277 

To  grace,  0  Lord,  a  marriage  feast  Wither 280 

The  voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden Keblc     288 

There  is  a  fountain  fill'd  with  blood    Gowper 316 

Thou  Judge  of  quick  and  dead    C.  Wesley 347 

The  chariot,  the  chariot !  its  wheels  roll  on 

fire MUman    348 

The  bird  let  loose  in  Eastern  skies T.  Moore 349 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show T.  Moore 350 

Thou  know'st  in  the  spirit  of  prayer C.  Wesley 350 

There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight  Watts  354 

We  sat  down  and  wept  by  the  waters Byron   20 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved    Walter  Seott   23 

We  adore  Thy  pure  image   Early  Christian  . .  33 

Why  should  our  garments,  made  to  hide   . .  Watts   66 

Wlien  Jesus  left  His  Father's  throne James  Montgomery  70 

When  my  dying  hour  must  be St.  Bernard 90 

When  ransom'd  Israel  came    Samvel  Wesley,  Sen.  134 

What  though  the  spicy  breezes    Heber    198 

Who  are  these  that  come  from  far (7.  Wesley 212 

Wbere  the  remote  Bei'mudas  ride   Andrew  Marvel  . .  228 

Why  those  fears  ?  behold,  'tis  Jesus    Kelly    240 

When  through  the  torn  sail Heber   242 

What  secret  hand  at  morning  light   Heber   253 

We  will  not  close  our  wakeful  eyes    C.  Wesley 261 

When  I  svu'vey  life's  varied  scene Anne  Steele 301 

Yet  think  not,  0  my  soul,  to  keep   Henry  F.  Lyte. . . .  291 


GENEEAL    INDEX. 


FAOB 

Anctent  Israel's  hymn 2 

Africa's  first  love,  and  songs    10 

Anonymous  hymns  in  the  early  church 32 

Augustine's  recollections  of  early  hymnology 60 

Above  the  clouds,  in  the  west  of  England     164 

A  noble  and  gifted  widow   103 

Addison's  thoughts  about  Psalm  cxiv.  :  his  boyhood 135 

Anne  Steele's  home  in  Hampshire 173 

Albert  the  good  :  his  last  hymn 12 

A  happy  pilgrim,  hymning  on  his  way 196 

Allan  Cunningham's  songs  and  hjonns 209 

A  poet's  visit  to  Portland,  and  its  results 213 

Andrew  Marvel :  his  character,  satires,  and  hymns   227 

A  prodigal  rescued  in  a  storm 235 

A  Christian  bishop  on  shipboard , 241 

Awful  scene  in  a  transport  ship 240 

Amusing  story  of  a  clerical  hymnist 243 

Antidote  for  daily  dangers  252 

An  old  Christian's  account  of  his  morning  music 255 

A  calm  and  holy  sunset  to  life   297 

A  great  Puritan:  his  versatile  powers   299 

Apostolic  style  of  singing  under  trial   303 

Abney  Park,  Watts's  last  retreat    355 

Assize  Court  in  tears 364 

Approach  of  the  Bridegroom  felt  by  the  Church 335 

Baxtee  and  his  psalm-singing  flock  at  Kidderminster  8 

Byron,  Scott,  and  Olivers,  a  trio 20 

Byron  at  Palmouth,  and  the  lesson  he  received   21 


372  QENEEAX  INDEX. 

PAGE 

BurgTindy  and  its  saintly  hymnists 88 

Bernard  of  Morlaix  in  his  monastic  home     93 

Brunswick  family  and  its  hymnists   106 

Brixham,  an  interesting  scene  in  its  parish  church 113 

Bums  in  his  better  time  as  a  psalm-writer  144 

Berridge's  hymn  on  Psalm  cxxxi.  2,  spoiled 158 

Broughton,  and  its  pastor 176 

Boat  scene  and  bridal  party  at  Hidl  in  the  olden  time    227 

Bishop  Burnet's  good  advice  to  a  graceless  pastor   176 

Barbauld,  Anna  Letitia  :  her  character  and  pvu-suits 176 

Beautiful  and  impressive  passage  in  Wesley's  experience 184 

Bernard  Barton  :  his  character  and  poems 190 

Bright  and  cheerful  piety  in  a  hymnist , .  . .  247 

Berridge's  racy  letters  and  essays 250 

Beautiful  finish  to  a  suffering  life 271. 

Baxter,  and  his  complex  times 297 

Bunhill  Fields,  and  a  funeral  oration  in  1768   324 

Bemerton,  and  Herbert's  rich  bequest   355 

Benjamin  Rhodes,  preacher  and  hymnist 362 

Cheistianity  cheerful  in  its  nature 3 

Cornish  psalmody  and  religious  life 9 

Cobden's  last  hours 12 

Collins,  Mrs.  Julius  :  her  translations 18 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  and  Wesley 46 

Challenge  for  a  new  style  of  hymn 352 

Cornish  mother's  lament  59 

Chanting  hymns  of  praise  on  a  hill-side   172 

Cowper  and  Newton,  unlike  and  yet  one 187 

Charles  Wesley's  eye  for  beauties  by  the  way 211 

Charles  Lamb's  warning  to  Bernard  Barton 190 

Cornwall :  one  of  its  pits  as  seen  by  a  Romish  tourist  215 

Cornish  rhyme  in  honour  of  Charles  Wesley   215 

Christian  genius  in  its  last  moments  on  earth 224 

Caroline  Bowles  as  Mrs.  Southey  at  Keswick   230 

Circumstances  in  their  influence  on  a  poet 245 

Call  from  a  waggish -looking  parson,  and  its  results 248 

Chain  of  conversions 266 

Classic  divinity  of  England :  its  centre  the  Bible   180 

Contentment  in  marriage 280 

Clouds  upon  the  mercy-seat 290 

Cromwell  and  Richard  Baxter  face  to  face   298 


GENERAL  INDEX.  373 

PAGE 

Cowper's  sufferings  and  songs 300 

Christian  tenderness  learnt  on  Calvary 319 

Cambrse,  and  its  surrounding  scenery  330 

Cornish  death-song    334 

Christian  sympathy  with  the  beauties  and  harmonies  of  nature  170 

Devonian  8cenes,.poetic  pilgrims 133 

Danvers,  Jane  :  her  love  for  Herbert 202 

Doddridge  in  tears,  yet  happy 263 

Dreams  suggestive  of  hymns 338 

Dean  Milman,  family,  and  course 348 

Disappointment  of  "Watts,  and  its  happy  issue   353 

Egypt,  her  scenes  and  songsters 44 

Evening  songs,  their  succession  in  the  Church   50 

Elizabeth  Singer's  response  to  her  poetic  suitor 353 

England's  second  birth -time 82 

England's  renovation  in  the  seventeenth  century    83 

Easter  reflections  and  feelings 307 

FiEST  Latin  missionaries  to  England 74 

F.  B.  P.  in  the  Tower,  and  his  long  hymn   118 

Foolish  Dick,  the  happy  pilgrim 161 

Fragments  of  time  well  filled 266 

Funeral  hymns  excelling  in  grandeur  and  power 329 

Frequent  prayer  the  secret  of  Mason's  sweetness  and  grace ....  357 

Germans,  and  their  love  of  psalmody 10 

Gregory  of  Nazianzen :  scenes  of  his  life  and  times 48 

George  Wither's  portrait 65 

Gregory  the  Great :  his  character  and  works   73 

Germ  of  the  "  Dies  Irse  " 82 

Gustavus  Adolphus:  his  character  and  victories 102 

Guion,  Madame  :  her  conversion,  trials,  songs,  and  death 121 

Grave-side  anthems    322 

Hymnic  style  of  early  language 1 

Hymns  in  their  influence  on  the  spiritual  life  of  the  Church   . .  2 

Hymns  favourites  with  children     4 

Hallelujah  victories   7 

Hugh  Capet  of  France,  and  his  son  Robert .  f 100 


374  GENERAL  IITDEX. 

PAGE 

Hymn-meudcrs  instructed  and  reproved  150 

Hymn-books  for  all  classes   150 

Holy  Scripture  in  its  influence  on  great  "writers 183 

Herbert :  his  person,  short  and  full  career   192 

Henchman's  plaintive  record  of  Herbert's  life 192 

Hebcr  :  his  last  charge 198 

Heaven  in  a  little  chamber  of  sickness 2U0 

Hymn-composing  in  the  saddle  :  its  dangers  and  frmts   211 

Hymnists  gathering  eongs  from  the  deep 231 

Hebrew  talk  about  the  secrets  of  truth 274 

Hymns  for  everybody,  by  George  Wither   278 

House-warming  in  old  times 283 

Hart  the  hymnist :  his  experience  and  ministry 309 

Henry  H.  Milma.n  in  his  decline 325 

Heaven'secn  from  the  sick  chamber 351 

"  Home,"  a  summons  from  the  muffled  bell ,  . .  359 

Itinerant  life,  and  its  adventures . .  338 

Irish  hymn-menders 153 

"  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death  "  323 

James  Montgomery  on  the  childhood  of  Jesus 70 

John  Bull  the  author  of  the  National  Anthem 113 

John  Wesley  as  a  hymnist 159 

Jewish  consolation  on  a  sick-bed 274 

Joseph  Hart's  funeral   324 

Ken  :  his  trials  and  character 51 

Keble,  in  harmony  with  the  music  of  former  ages   55 

Kingly  students  and  hymn-writers     100 

Keble' s  beautiful  interweaving  of  nature  and  grace 170 

Kennicott's  thirty  years'  labour  on  his  Hebrew  Bible  :  his  gifted 

"  help-meet,"  and  how  she  helped  him 181 

Kelly  and  Lord  Plunket,  old  school-fellow    241 

Ken's  recollections  of  Winchester     244 

King  Arthur's  castle  in  North  Cornwall    257 


Lasting  influence  of  hymns  learnt  in  childliood 4 

Lullabies,  and  their  authors   63 

Lichfield,  private  chat  and  public  services 71 

Lichfield,  and  its  Cathedi-al  Close    136 


GENERAL  INDEX.  375 

PAGB 

Louisa  Henrietta  of  Brandenbiirgh,  and  her  hushing  song-   ....  105 

Lady  Aletta,  St.  Bernard's  mother 89 

Land's  End  :  its  grandeurs 217 

Leigh  ton's  time  for  deepest  thought 257 

LoneUness  on  New  Year's  Eve 262 

Lady  Huntingdon  and  Dr.  Doddridge 263 

Lyte,  Henry  F. :  his  birthjalace  and  beautifid  career 293 

Lyte:  his  preaching  and  hymns 113 

Laymen's  hallowed  genius    318 

Last  words  suggestive  to  consecrated  genius    328 

Last  Sunday  of  a  parson 203 

Last  words  of  a  dejjarting  Christian 360 

Last  moments  of  a  murdered  Sunday-school  teacher 363 


Melancholy  Christians 3 

Mesopotamia  :  its  psalmists  and  psalmody    57 

Monkish  monarchs  and  martial  rulers 102 

Maria  of  Hungaiy,  and  her  hymn  in  bereavement    103 

Marriages  of  i^rinces  by  lot 108 

Meditation  about  departed  worthies    136 

Montgomery's  fine  version  of  Psalm  Ixxii 138 

Mysteries  in  the  history  of  old  books    141 

Moore's  Irish  Melodies,  and  his  Wiltshire  cottage 167 

Monsell,  andhis  "  Parish  Musings  "    169 

Milton  and  John  Bunyan,  their  obligation  to  the  Bible 183 

Mason's  character,  by  Richard  Baxter 203 

Mason  and  Herbert  alike  in  piety  and  genius 206 

Mant,  as  a  translator  of  Latin  hymns 207 

Mant,  ignorant  of  those  about  whom  he  lectured 208 

Morning-  hymn  in  Mant's  school  days   243 

Methodist  clergyman  of  early  times 249 

Missionary  sorrows  in  the  Island  of  Zante     261 

Methodist  preacher  and  Polish  Jew  in  happy  companionship  . .  273 

Medical  skill  in  Baxter's  times     298 

Mystery  and  joy  of  the  cross    306 

Monsell,  and  his  sanctified  muse 318 

Monica  and  St.  Ambrose   61 

National  character  swayed  by  popular  songs 6 

National  anthems  and  their  power 7 

Nature  and  grace  in  harmony 168 


376  GENERAL  INDEX. 


PAGE 


Newton's    illustration  of    variety  in  Christian  character  and 

calling   188 

Newton's  eventful  life    231 

Night  scenes  in  the  Ionian  Sea 261 

Northampton,  monthly  devotion  in  its  old  meeting-house 264 

Nuptial  joys  interwoven  with  praise  and  prayer 288 

Notker,  and  his  immortal  hymn 323 

Old  age  melted  and  hallowed  by  renewal  of  early  impressions  5 

Our  English  Bible,  and  what  is  in  it 181 

"  Old  Everton  "  on  a  "  Christian  wedding  " 285 

Olivers  the  hymnist  and  comj)anion  of  "Wesley  345 

Old  hymnists  out  of  taste 352 

Old  man's  story  about  a  tuneful  preacher 361 

Pastoral  recollections  of  first  hymn  lessons 5 

Primitive  ChristiaA  psalmody  in  relation  to  that  of  the  Syna- 
gogue   16 

Poetic  gifts  hallowed  for  the  good  of  the  Church 19 

Pomeroy,  Dr.  :   his  interesting  story  about  Armenian  psalmody  35 

Palm-Sunday  at  Mentz  in  the  time  of  Louis  Debonnaire 116 

Psalm  from  a  prison  window   116 

Patmos,  and  its  songs 117 

Psalms  "  done  into  metre  " 132 

Prolific  hymnists  and  fast  poets 140 

Peace  and  joy  in  affliction 197 

Piety  associated  with  some  false  notions   204 

Portland,  and  its  people     213 

Praise  as  the  first  act  in  the  morning 254 

Poverty,  piety,  and  genius  in  a. girl    269 

Praise  for  the  fountain  opened,  from  a  sufferer   315 

Parish  musings  on  Good  Friday 316 

Piety  and  taste  in  Cornwall 329 

"  Queen  of  Hearts  :  "  her  parentage,  life,  character,  and  hymn  108 

Robert  Hall,  an  incident  in  his  history   31 

Robinson  of  Cambridge  :  an  adventure  in  a  stage  coach   225 

Robert  Hall's  opinion  of  Robinson 226 

Romantic  adventures  of  a  hymnist 235 

"  Rock  of  Ages :  "  its  birthplace     246 


GENERAL  INDEX.  377 

PAeB 

Romantic  scene  in  pilgi-im  life 258 

"  Rise  and  progress  of  Religion  in  the  Soul "    266 

Requiem  by  the  bed-side  of  a  departing  saint 327 

Redruth  Churchyard,  and  its  burial  hymns   330 

Remarkable  traveller  in  1753   338 


Song  of  a  persecuted  girl  in  Cornwall  10 

St.  Paul's  view  of  spiritual  song 14 

Synagogue  hymns 17 

Scott,  "Walter  :  his  faithfulness  to  Byron   22 

Scotch  mothers,  and  the  happy  fruit  of  their  psalmody 120 

Saxon  slaves  in  the  Roman  market    74 

St.  George  and  the  Dragon   75 

Saxon  hymnology 75 

St.  Bernard's  birthplace,  parentage,  character,  and  happy  death  88 

Sea  Captain's  death  song 152 

Scene  from  the  top  of  an  old  tower 164 

Songs  above  the  storm 165 

Songs  from  old  Ireland 168 

Scotland  the  birthplace  of  genius     178 

Shaftesbury's  "  Characteristics  :  "  their  mischievous  influence. .  189 

Spmpathy  of  the  soul  with  the  outer  world   195 

Stories  of  other  days,  by  an  old  Cornishman 219 

Sabbath  peace  on  the  waters   233 

Secret  of  happy  and  useful  preaching    247 

Suffering  mingled  with  songs  in  the  night   267 

Solomon's  Song :  its  claims  and  design 272 

Sweets  extracted  from  birthdays 287 

Songs  of  suffering  women 301 

Susanna  "Wesley's  last  charge 327 

Southampton  psalmody  in  early  times   352 

Scene  in  Exeter  Castle  during  the  Assizes    363 

Song  of  a  murdered  young  Christian 364 

ToPLADY  and  Olivers  as  controversialists  and  hymnists 27 

"  Ter  Sancfus,"  "  Gloria  in  excelsts,"  and  the  "  Te  Dcum  "    30 

Toplady's  parish  :  his  life  and  character  ■ 36 

"  Theodosia  :  "  her  thoughts  and  hymns    43 

Theodulph  of  Orleans 117 

Tiverton  Grammar  School  and  its  old  master 133 

"  The  spii-it  of  the  Psalms,"  by  H.  T.  Lyte  146 


378  GENERAL   INDEX. 

PAGE 

Thomas  a  Keiupis:  his  cloister  life,  his  "Imitation  of  Christ," 

and  his  hymns 97 

Thompson's  character :  his  grand  closing  hjmin 178 

Talk  in  a  sea-side  cottage     197 

Tintagel  ruins  by  the  sea 258 

Tinkling  employment  for  a  merry  old  man 284 

Tales  in  verse   291 

The  decrees,  and  where  to  find  them :  a  queer  story   295 

The  young  miner  singing  his  own  requiem   333 

Triumphant  song  with  the  last  breath   333 

Thomas  of  Celano's  judgment  hymn •. 336 

Thomas  Moore's  better  moments  and  upward  looks 349 

"  Veiii  Creator  Spirifm :  "  its  author 73 

Venantius  Fortunatus  :  his  character  and  friends   76 

Venerable  Bade  at  "Wearmouth  :  his  last  hours,  etc 77 

WiNCHESTEB  School      52 

"Watts  and  Wesley :  their  comparative  merits  in  childi-en'  s  hymns  6  7 

Wither,  George :  his  sympathy  with  prisoners    127 

Wesley,  Samuel,  sen. :  his  version  of  psalms 134 

Wesley,  Charles,  as  a  psalmist 141 

Wesley's  dictionary  and  the  preface  to  his  hymn-book 148 

Wesley  as  a  hymn- mender    156 

Women's  voices  in  songs  of  creation 173 

Walton's  beautiful  sketch  of  Herbert's  conjugal  life 202 

"  Wrestling  Jacob,"  by  C.  Wesley,  remarkably  illusti-ated    ....  222 

Wordsworth  at  Heidelbei'g  and  on  the  Neckar 229 

William  of  Wykeham  and  his  school 243 

Watch-night  services  among  old  Methodists    259 

Wilson  and  his  "  Noctes  Ambrosianae  " 291 

Women  at  the  cross 319 

Walter  Scott's  last  breathings    336 

Watts's  first  essay  at  hymn  writing  353 

Women  devoted  to  song    38 

Youthful  suffering  hushed  by  Bernard's  hymn 95 

Yearning  for  future  repose   349 


LONDON  :  8.  W.  PABTEIDGE  AND  CO.  9  PATEKNOSTER  KOW. 


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